l^/i^ 


I        PUI^  22  ISSO 

.CIL 

Crv 


ONE  HUNDRED  HYMNS 
YOU  OUGHT  TO  KNOW 


•F  ONE  HAD  A  HUNDRED  HYMNS  IN  HIS  MEMORY, 
AND  IF  WITH  EVERY  CHANGING  MOOD  HE  WAS 
ACCUSTOMED  TO  HAVE  TO  HIMSELF  SOME  SWEET 
DESCANT  OF  EXPERIENCE,  HE  WOULD  NOT  EASILY 
BE  MADE  UNHAPPY,  NOR  WOULD  HE  WANDER 
FAR    FROM    THE    PATH    OF    RECTITUDE. 

—  HENRY  fTARD   BEE  CHER. 


One  Hundred  Hymns 
ITou  Ought  to  Know 


EDITED   BY 

HENRY   F.   COPE 


Chicago  New  York  Toronto 

FLEMING   H.    REVELL   COMPANY 

London  Edinburgh 


AUG  22  1990 


Copyright,  igo6 
By  FLEMING    H.   REVELL    COMPANY 


Cordial  acknowledgment  is  tendered  the  editors  of  "  The 
Chicago  Tribune^'  for  permission  to  publish  in  permanent  form 
this  collection,  which  appeared  first  in  that  journal. 


THE    UNIVERSITY    PRESS,  CAMBRIDGE,    U.S.A. 


PREFACE 


FEW  things  in  literature  exert  a  greater 
power  over  us  than  good  hymns  ;  they  are 
to  be  counted  as  amongst  the  most  potent 
factors  in  reHgious  nurture.  They  are  to 
very  large  numbers  of  people  all  that  the  Hebrew 
Psalms  were  to  a  smaller  number.  Religious  truth, 
which  in  the  form  of  syllogism  or  sermon  would 
have  filled  to  find  welcome  in  the  mind,  has 
entered  freely  and  been  fully  apprehended  when 
presented  in  the  form  of  the  sentiment  of  hymns 
and  on  the  wings  of  their  metres.  Many  a  heart, 
in  the  trying  hour  of  fear  or  doubt,  has  suddenly 
discovered  light  on  the  way,  —  light  radiating  from 
some  line  or  stanza  of  a  hymn  that  had  long  lain 
in  memory.  The  hymns  of  the  English-speaking 
people  have  done  more  to  mould  their  characters 
than  all  the  sermons  spoken  or  written. 

Did  you  ever  find  yourself  repeating  over  and 
over  a  sentence  from  a  book  or  a  sermon,  find 
such  a  sentence  gradually  working  forward,  as  it 
were,   from   the   margin  of  consciousness  to   the 


[vj 


focus  of  attention  ?  Not  often.  Yet  how  fre- 
quently have  lines  and  stanzas  of  hymns  thus 
stolen  in  on  our  field  of  thought,  the  same  truth 
coming  again  and  again  in  this  manner  and  every 
time  deepening  its  impression,  its  power  over  the 
mind  and  will,  and  increasing  the  facility  of  its 
entrance. 

Teachers  of  men,  especially  the  teachers  of  the 
young,  fully  appreciate  the  importance  of  storing 
the  mind  with  reserves  of  strength  and  soul 
nourishment,  with  aspirations  that  lift  up  the  eyes 
of  the  heart  and  ideals  that  lead.  In  seeking 
these  sources  of  soul  strength  the  questions  must 
often  occur.  First,  where  may  one  find  them  in 
their  noblest  and  richest  form  ?  and.  Second,  in 
what  form  will  they  find  readiest  admission  to  the 
mind  and  exert  the  largest  and  most  lasting  influ- 
ence ?  There  will  be  no  hesitancy  in  answering 
the  first  by  saying  that  nowhere  are  there  greater 
riches  of  the  life  in  the  form  of  literature  than  in 
the  Bible  ;  the  second  question  finds  answer,  both 
in  reason  and  experience,  that  the  splendid  literary 
riches  of  the  Bible  set  into  the  form  of  our  great 
hymns  then  find  their  easiest  vehicle  into  the  mind 
and  have  their  greatest  potency.  Our  hymns  are 
but  the  old  songs  of  the  Hebrew,  the  aspirations, 
visions,  passions,  and  inspirations  of  the  great 
religious  teachers  resung,  set  again  into  the  forms 
to  which  we  are  accustomed.  Religious  truth  in 
the  form  of  hymns  is  so  highly  valuable  because 
the  hymns  are  easily  learned;  they  are  associated 
usually  with   inspiring  tunes,  with  melodies  often 


that  sing  them  back  again  and  again  to  the  mind, 
and  because  thus  storing  themselves  in  memory's 
treasury  they  come  out  automatically,  perhaps,  in 
some  hour  when  the  soul  is  feeling  its  spiritual 
poverty,  a  rich  asset,  to  remind  the  soul  of  its  yet 
greater  unseen  resources. 

We  do  well  then,  seeing  the  power  of  these 
hymns,  to  exercise  no  little  care  in  the  selection 
of  those  with  which  children  and  youth  shall  be- 
come familiar.  This  is  that  which  has  been  in 
mind  in  the  selection  of  these  "  Hymns  You 
Ought  to  Know,"  the  bringing  together  of  at  least 
one  hundred  of  those  hymns  which  may  be 
counted  of  greatest  worth  and  force  on  account 
of  their  power  for  spiritual  nurture,  for  character 
determination.  There  must  be  always  wide  dif- 
ference of  opinion  as  to  what  are  the  very  best 
hymns.  But  there  is  certainly  one  safe  test,  viz., 
what  hymns  have,  through  a  course  of  at  least 
some  time,  shown  themselves  to  be  best 
capable  of  expressing  the  ideals  and  worship  of 
the  people,  stirring  their  emotions  and  aspirations 
and  strengthening  their  inner  lives.  The  song 
which  leaps  into  popularity  and  sweeps,  whirlwind 
like,  over  the  country  may  meet  none  of  these 
requirements.  But  the  song  that  the  people  sing 
year  after  year,  that  they  sing  in  the  hour  of  trial, 
in  the  quietude  of  evening,  by  the  hearthside,  in 
the  cathedral  —  the  song  that  is  sung  because  it 
satisfies,  strengthens,  inspires,  this  is  the  one  that 
all  our  people  need  to  know. 

These,  we  are  told,  are   the  days  when   mate- 

[vH] 


rialism  is  eating  the  heart  out  of  men,  when  the 
family  altar  stands  neglected  or  overthrown  in 
the  rush  for  the  office,  when  the  eye  ceases  to 
look  up.  The  outlook  is  not  so  dark  as  some 
who  hide  their  faces  would  have  us  believe  ;  but 
it  is  a  day  when,  by  every  power  at  our  command, 
we  need  to  bring  the  hearts  of  men  back  to  things 
that  are  eternal ;  back  from  their  dust  and  toys  to 
the  deep  things,  the  infinite  and  only  satisfying. 
Into  our  fevered  lives  there  needs  to  come  often 
the  voices  of  calm,  the  songs  of  the  spirit;  into 
our  hearts  we  need  to  admit  all  we  may  find  that 
will  serve  to  remind  us  that  the  things  seen  are 
passing,  the  things  unseen  abiding,  to  bring  us  the 
strength  to  meet  each  day's  strain.  What,  in 
this,  can  help  more,  leaving  out  of  estimate  the 
sources  of  our  religious  literature,  than  a  collec- 
tion of  the  very  best  types  of  that  form  of  religious 
literature  which  enters  the  mind  most  easily,  stays 
longest,  speaks  clearest,  and  with  largest  character 
potency  ? 

HENRY   F.   COPE. 

Chicago,    1906. 


[viiij 


^■^ 


A- 


■■"■  ^'-y'^d  <^^^^-? 


><2ju^i3 


CONTENTS 


Abide  with  Me    .... 
Angel's  Song,  The    . 
Armies  of  the  Ransomed,  The 
Art  Thou  Weary 
Ascending  King,  The 

At  the  Door 

Awake,  My  Soul 

Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic 

Bethlehem 

Better  Life,  The  .... 
Blest  Be  the  Tie  That  Binds 
Blind  Man's  Song,  The 
Christmas  Carol  .... 
Christian's  Glory,  The  . 
Come,  Thou  Almighty  King 
Consecration  Hymn,  A  . 

Consolation 

Consolation 

Content 

Coronation 

Cross  of  Christ,  The 

Day  of  Rest 


Lyte     .      .     . 

153 

Sears    . 

169 

Alford.      .      . 

185 

Neale  .      .      . 

H3 

Wordsworth    . 

199 

How     . 

17 

Ken     .     . 

95 

Hozve  . 

191 

Brooks 

^73 

Muhlenberg 

21 

Fawcett     . 

81 

Matheson  . 

119 

Wesley 

181 

Grigg  .      . 

67 

Anonymous 

141 

Havergal  . 

65 

Moore  . 

9 

Warner     . 

149 

Baxter 

.       83 

Perronet    . 

145 

Bowring    . 

■       51 

Wordsworth 

159 

[ix] 


Disciple's  Prayer,  A  . 
Easter  Hymn 
Easter  Hymn,  An 
Ein  Feste  Burg 
Faith  of  Our  Fathers 
Firm  Foundation,  The 
Fling  Out  the  Banner 
Fount  of  Blessing,  The 
Glory  to  Thee,  My  God 
God  is  Love   . 
Gratitude  . 
Green  Hill  Far  Away,  Tiie 
Guidance   . 
Harvest  Home 
Holy,  Holy,  Holy 
Jerusalem,  My  Happy  H 
Jerusalem,  the  Golden 
Jesu,  Dulce  Memoria 
Jesus,  Lover  of  My  Soul 
Just  As  I  Am 
Just  For  To-Day 
King  of  Love,  The 
Lead,  Kindly  Light 
"Let  There  Be  Light" 
Lord  of  All  Being 
Love  Divine    . 
Love  for  God 
Love  of  God,  The 
Messiah's  Kingdom 
Messiah's  Reign   . 
Missionary  Hymn,  The 
Missionary  Success     . 


Bode     .      . 

.       189 

Ellerton     . 

lOI 

ffes/ey 

103 

Luther 

151 

Faber   . 

43 

Anonymous 

165 

Doane  . 

15 

Robinson    . 

73 

Ken     .      . 

125 

Bowring    . 

133 

Procter 

123 

Alexander 

23 

Williams   . 

37 

Alford        . 

45 

Heber  .      . 

127 

Montgomery 

99 

Bernard  and  Neale 

175 

Bernard  of  Clairvaux 

'       31 

Wesley 

157 

Elliott .      .      . 

87 

Wilberforce     . 

35 

Baker  .      .      . 

61 

Newman    . 

1 21 

Marriott    . 

155 

Holmes 

93 

Wesley       .      . 

,83 

Francis  Xavier 

13 

Faber  . 

49 

Watts  .      .      . 

91 

Pope     .      .      . 

53 

Heber  .      .      . 

167 

Hastings     . 

131 

l-l 


Morning  Aspiration    .... 
Morning  Hymn,  A    .      .      .      . 
My  Faith  Looks  up  to  Thee 
Name  Above  All  Others,  The  . 

National  Hymn 

Nearer  Home 

Nearer,  My  God,  to  Thee  . 

New  Year,  The 

Ninety  and  Nine,  The   . 
Noble  Army,  The     .... 
Onward,  Christian  Soldiers  . 
One  Foundation,  The 

O,  Sacred  Head 

Our  God,  Our  Help  in  Ages  Past 

Our  Master 

O,  Worship  the  King 

Paradise 

Parting  Prayer,  A       .      .      .      . 

Perfect  Peace 

Pilgrims  of  the  Night,  The    . 

Providence       

Rescue  the  Perishing 

Resignation 

Retirement 

Rock  of  Ages 

Seeking  to  Serve 

Service  of  Man,  The 
Shepherd  Psalm,  The 
Simple  Way,  The      .... 
Soldiers  of  the  Cross,  The    . 
"Star  of  the  East"  .... 
Still,  Still  with  Thee 


ron  Canifz     . 

.      207 

Kehle   .... 

•      J37 

Palmer 

.      147 

Newton 

•        41 

Smith  .... 

•      139 

Cary     .... 

.        89 

Adams 

•      193 

Doddridge . 

59 

Ckphane  and  Sankey 

1 1 1 

Heber  .... 

•      171 

Baring-Gould 

201 

Stone    .... 

197 

Bernard  of  Clairvau^ 

i     205 

Watts  .... 

.      115 

Whittier    .      .      . 

105 

Grant  .... 

71 

Faber  .... 

109 

Faber  .... 

•       75 

Bickersteth      .      . 

107 

Faber  .... 

.      187 

Cowper 

135 

Crosby 

i'3 

Hagenbach 

163 

Brown 

39 

Toplady      .      .      . 

1 1 

Havergal  . 

'9 

North  .... 

55 

Rous    .... 

63 

Waring     .      .      .      . 

195 

Duffield     .      .      .      . 

161 

Heber  

57 

Stowe 

29 

[xij 


Sun  of  My  Soul   . 
Te  Deum  Laudamus 
Thv  Will  Be  Done   . 

.      Keble  .... 

Anonymous 
.      Elliott  .... 

•      177 
.      129 

To  Our  Fatherland    . 
Traveler's  H\inn,  The 

f^on  Zinzendorf  . 
Addison 

•       91 
25 

Up  Hill     .... 
Vesper  Hymn 
Voice  of  Jesus,  The  , 

.      Rossetti      .     .      . 
Lathbury  . 
Bonar  .... 

33 

11 
79 

Victorious  Army,  The 

How     .... 

203 

Walking  with  God     . 
Warrior's  March,  The 

Gladden     .      .      .      . 
Moultrie    .      .      .      . 

85 

47 

Warrior's  Song,  The 
Wondrous  Cross,  The     . 

Plumptre  .      .      .      . 
Watts 

27 
69 

Way  of  Peace,  The  .     . 

Whittier    .      .      .      . 

179 

[xii] 


ONE  HUNDRED  HYMNS 
YOU  OUGHT  TO  KNOW 


[7] 


r^ 


HO  MAS  MOORE  (Dublin,  May  2S, 
ijjg  —  Bermuda,  W.  I.  /.,  Feb.  26,  iS^j), 
the  celebrated  Irish  poet  and  singer  of  love 
songs,  was  also  the  writer  of  about  thirty  hyf?ins. 
These  were  published  in  1816,  and  amojig 
them,  under  the  title  of  **  Relief  in  Prayer,''  is 
found  the  beautiful  hymn  which  is  to-day  so 
often  sung  on  occasions  of  inourning.  While 
few,  if  any,  of  Moore' s  poems  retain  the  place 
they  once  held  in  popular  appreciation,  and 
almost  all  his  other  hymns  are  forgotten,  the 
comforting  thought  in  this  poem  has  given  it  a 
place  of  permanency  along  with  the  other  great 
English  hymns. 


[8] 


CONSOLATION 


V>iOME,  ye  disconsolate,  where'er  ye  languish  ; 

Come  to  the  mercy  seat,  fervently  kneel ; 
Here  bring  your  wounded  hearts,  here  tell  your 
anguish, 

Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  heaven  cannot  heal. 

Joy  of  the  desolate,  light  of  the  straying, 
Hope  of  the  penitent,  fadeless  and  pure; 

Here  speaks  the  Comforter,  tenderly  saying. 
Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  heaven  cannot  cure. 

Here  see  the  Bread  of  Life ;  see  waters  flowing 
Forth    from    the    throne    of  God,   pure   from 
above ; 

Come  to  the  feast  of  love ;  come,  ever  knowing 
Earth  has  no  sorrow  but  heaven  can  remove. 


THOMAS      MOORE 


j4uGUSTUS  MONTAGUE  TOPLADT 

(Farnhaf7iy  Surrey ^  England^  Nov.  4,  1 7 40 
—  London y  Aug.  4,  iJjS )  graduated  from 
Trinity^  'Dublin.  After  fourteen  years  in  the 
English  Episcopal  7ninistry,  he  left  that  church 
to  becotne  pastor  of  the  French  Cahi?iists. 
This  universal  hymn  is  found  in  almost  as  7nany 
tongues  as  the  Bible  itself,  probably  over  JOO. 
Mr.  Gladstone  translated  it  into  Latin,  Greek, 
and  Italian.  It  is  said  that  the  brave  General 
Stuart,  wounded  before  Richmond,  died  with 
this  hymn  on  his  lips,  and  the  same  is  related 
of  the  prince  consort  of  England.  When  the 
London  went  down  in  the  bay  of  Biscay  in 
1866  the  last  thing  heard  was  the  passengers 
singing  "  Rock  of  Ages''  Many  changes 
have  crept  into  this  hymn,  but  the  following  is 
probably  exactly  as  Top  lady  wrote  it  in  I J  J  6 : 


ROCK      OF      AGES 


R, 


.OCK  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me  ! 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  thee  ; 
Let  the  water  and  the  blood. 
From  thy  wounded  side  that  flowed, 
Be  of  sin  the  double  cure; 
Cleanse  me  from  its  guilt  and  power. 

Not  the  labor  of  my  hands 
Can  fulfill  the  law's  demands  ; 
Could  my  zeal  no  respite  know, 
Could  my  tears  forever  flow. 
All  for  sin  could  not  atone ; 
Thou  must  save,  and  thou  alone. 

Nothing  in  my  hand  I  bring. 
Simply  to  thy  cross  I  cling; 
Naked,  come  to  thee  for  dress. 
Helpless,  look  to  thee  for  grace ; 
Vile,  I  to  the  fountain  fly. 
Wash  me,  Savior,  or  1  die! 

While  I  draw  this  fleeting  breath, 
When  my  eyelids  close  in  death, 
When  I  soar  to  worlds  unknown. 
See  thee  on  thy  judgment  throne, 
Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me  ! 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  thee. 


AUGUSTUS     M.     TOPLADY 


Francis  XAVIER  (Navarre,  Spain, 
April  7,  1^06 — Island  of  Sancian,  Dec.  2, 
I^^2)y  the  famous  Spanish  ?7iissionary,  the 
apostle  to  the  Indians,  and  one  of  the  founders 
of  the  Society  of  Jesus.  He  labored  inces- 
santly in  carrying  the  Gospel  to  many  lands 
and  died  on  his  way  to  China.  It  is  thought 
that  he  translated  this  hymn  from  the  Spanish 
into  the  Latin.  From  the  latter  it  was 
tratislated  into  English  by   Edward  Caswall. 


[12] 


LOVE      FOR      GOD 


M 


Y  God,  I  love  thee,  not  because 
I  hope  for  heaven  thereby, 
Nor  yet  because,  if  I  love  not, 
I  must  forever  die. 

Thou,  O  my  Jesus,  thou  didst  me 

Upon  the  cross  embrace : 
For  me  didst  bear  the  nails,  and  spear. 

And  manifold  disgrace. 

Then  why,  O  blessed  Jesus  Christ, 
Should  I  not  love  thee  well  ? 

Not  for  the  hope  of  winning  heaven, 
Nor  of  escaping  hell ; 

Not  with  the  hope  of  gaining  aught. 

Not  seeking  a  reward  ; 
But  as  thyself  hast  loved  me, 

O  ever-loving  Lord ! 

So  would  I  love  thee,  dearest  Lord, 
And  in  thy  praise  will  sing; 

Solely  because  thou  art  my  God, 
And  my  eternal  King. 


FRANCIS      XAVIER 


['3] 


^s^'-^a^ii/ 


-/  HE  Rev.  George  Washington  Doane 
[Trenton,  N.  J.,  May  2'/,  J^7QQ  — 
Burlington,  N.  J .,  April  2y,  iS^g), 
Protestant  Episcopal  bishop  of  New  'Jer- 
sey, was  a  prolific  writer  and  the  author 
of  a  number  of  hytnns.  His  works  of 
prose  and  poetry,  in  four  volwnes,  were 
published  in  i860.  This  jnissionary 
hymn  was  written  at  Riverside  in  1 8 48. 


['4] 


FLING    OUT    THE    BANNER 


F 


LING  out  the  banner  !      Let  it  float 
Skyward  and  seaward,  high  and  wide ; 
The  sun,  that  lights  its  shining  folds. 
The  cross  on  which  the  Savior  died. 

Fling  out  the  banner  !     Angels  bend 
In  anxious  silence  o'er  the  sign. 

And  vainly  seek  to  comprehend 
The  wonder  of  the  love  divine. 

Fling  out  the  banner  !     Heathen  lands 
Shall  see  from  far  the  glorious  sight, 

And  nations  crowding  to  be  born 
Baptize  their  spirits  in  its  light. 

Fling  out  the  banner !     Sin  sick  souls, 
That  sink  and  perish  in  the  strife, 

Shall  touch  in  faith  its  radiant  hem, 
And  spring  immortal  into  life. 

Fling  out  the  banner !     Let  it  float 
Skyward  and  seaward,  high  and  wide ; 

Our  glory,  only  in  the  cross ; 
Our  only  hope,  the  Crucified  ! 

Fling  out  the  banner  !     Wide  and  high 
Seaward  and  skyward  let  it  shine; 

Nor  skill,  nor  might,  nor  merit  ours ; 
We  conquer  only  in  that  sign. 

GEORGE     WASHINGTON     DOANE 
_ 


r.A  ■< 


William  walsham  how,  bishop 

of  Bedford,  was  born  at  Shrewsbury,  Eng- 
land, Dec.  I  J,  182J.  His  best  work  as  a 
fninister  of  the  Church  of  Efigland  was  done  at 
Kidder}?tinster  and  later  atnongst  the  destitute 
in  the  East  End,  London.  Although  he  did  not 
begin  to  publish  his  poetical  compositions  until 
he  was  well  advajtced  in  years,  his  hytnns  are 
already  well  known,  a  Jiumber  of  them  being 
found  in  all  the  standard  hyjnnals.  In  the  Eng- 
lish church  his  songs  for  children  have  been 
acceptable.  But  in  all  lands  the  one  given 
here  is  by  far  the  most  popular  of  all  his  com- 
positions. It  is  usually  sinig  to  the  tune  of 
"St.  Hilda."  Its  theme  is  beautifully  illus- 
trated in  Holman  Hunt' s  celebrated  painting, 
"  The  Light  of  the   World:' 

_ 


AT      THE      DOOR 


\J  JESUS,  thou  art  standing 

Outside  the  fast  closed  door. 
In  lowly   patience  waiting 

To  pass  the  threshold  o'er; 
We  bear  the  name  of  Christians, 

His  name  and  sign  we  bear; 
O  shame,  thrice  shame  upon  us, 

To  keep  him  standing  there  ! 

O  Jesus,  thou  art  knocking; 

And  lo  !  that  hand  is  scarred, 
And  thorns  thy  brow  encircle. 

And  tears  thy  face   have  marred ; 
O  love  that  passeth  knowledge. 

So  patiently   to  wait ; 
O  sin   that  hath   no  equal. 

So  fast  to   bar  the  gate. 

O  Jesus,  thou   art  pleading 

In  accents  meek  and  low  — 
"  I   died  for  you,  my  children. 

And  will  ye  treat  me  so  ?  " 
O  Lord,  with  shame  and  sorrow 

We  open  now  the  door; 
Dear  Savior,  enter,  enter. 

And  leave  us  nevermore ! 


WILLIAM     WALSHAM     HOW 


[^7] 


IkfiSS  HAVERGAL  wrote  more  hymns 
which  have  attained  wide  popularity  and  give 
promise  of  permanency  than  any  other  woman 
writer.  From  the  years  of  her  childhood  she 
had  the  gift  of  poetic  expression.  Her  longer 
poems y  all  of  which  are  of  a  religious  character ^ 
are  popular  with  the  English  people.  This  hymn 
was  written  in  l8j2y  and  first  published  in  a 
leaflet^  whence  it  found  its  way  rapidly  i?ito  all 
the  hymnals. 


[.8] 


SEEKING     TO     SERVE 


JL^ORD,  speak  to  me,  that  I  may  speak 

In  living  echoes  of  thy  tone  ; 
As  thou  has  sought,  so  let  me  seek 

Thy  erring  children,  lost  and  lone. 

O,  strengthen  me,  that  while  I  stand 
Firm  on  the  rock,  and  strong  in  thee, 

I  may  stretch  out  a  loving  hand 
To  wrestlers  with  the  troubled  sea. 

O,  teach  me,  Lord,  that  I  may  teach 
The  precious  things  thou  dost  impart; 

And  wing  my  words  that  they  may  reach 
The  hidden  depths  of  many  a  heart. 

O,  give  thine  own  sweet  rest  to  me. 

That  I  may  speak  with  soothing  power 

A  word  in  season,  as  from  thee. 
To  weary  ones  in  needful  hour. 

O,  fill  me  with  thy  fullness.  Lord, 

Until  my  very  heart  o'erflow 
In  kindling  thought  and  glowing  word, 

Thy  love  to  tell,  thy  praise  to  show. 

O,  use  me.  Lord,  use  even  me. 

Just  as  thou  wilt,  and  when,  and  where. 
Until  thy  blessed  face  I  see. 

Thy  rest,  thy  joy,  thy  glory  share. 


FRANCES     RIDLEY     HAVERGAL 

^ // 


[^9] 


'\v,.    "     -.^        *^^'l       ®.<^-=* '^f  .^^^•-     --^  '   '    ,-^- V.  •?-^''^ 


1  HE  Rev.  Willia??i  Augustus  Muhlenberg 
(Philadelphia,  Sept.  i6,  ijgO — New  York, 
April  8y  iSyj )y  a  noted  Episcopalian  iiiinister, 
especially  distinguished  for  his  work  in  founding 
St.  Luke's  Hospital  in  New  Tork,  is  the  author 
of  several  hymns.  While  this  hymn  usually  is 
classified  as  suitable  for  occasions  of  J7iourni?igy 
its  thought  has  made  it  popular  as  a  song  of 
aspiration  at  all  times.  Until  recently  it  was 
not  found  in  any  hy?nnal ;  but  it  now  is  coming 
into  common  use. 


[zo] 


THE     BETTER     LIFE 


JL  WOULD  not  live  alway;  I  ask  not  to  stay 
Where  storm  after  storm  rises  dark  o'er  the  way  ; 
The  few  lurid  mornings  that  dawn  on  us  here 
Are  enough   for  life's  woes,  full   enough  for  its 
cheer. 

I  would  not  live  alway  ;  no,  welcome  the  tomb  ! 
Since  Jesus  hath  lain  there  I  dread  not  its  gloom  ; 
There  sweet  be  my  rest  till  he  bid  me  arise. 
To  hail  him  in  triumph  descending  the  skies. 

Who,  who  would  live  alway, away  from  his  God? 
Away  from  yon  heaven,  that  blissful  abode. 
Where  the  rivers  of  pleasure  flow  o'er  the  bright 

plains. 
And  the  noontide  of  glory  eternally  reigns; 

Where  the  saints  of  all  ages  in  harmony  meet, 
Their  Savior  and  brethren  transported  to  greet ; 
While  the  anthems  of  rapture  unceasingly  roll, 
And  the  smile  of  the  Lord  is  the  feast  of  the  soul. 


WILLIAM     AUGUSTUS     MUHLENBERG 


[-0 


(i>C'V>;^^^f?^^1i^^^^^^^  ^' '^ 


y  77/5  gifted  woman  wrote  many  beautiful 
hymns.  She  intended  thetn  for  the  use  of  little 
children^  but  some  of  thetn  have  become  popular 
with  adults.  Mrs.  Alexander  was  born  in 
County  Wicklow,  Ireland^  in  i8l8;  she 
married  Dr.  William  Alexander^  bishop  of 
Derry ;  she  died  Oct.  I2y  i8q^,  at  London- 
derry. Besides  her  hymns  she  wrote  a  niwiber 
of  poemsy  the  best  known  of  them  all  being 
"  2' he  Burial  of  Moses,'* 


["] 


THE    GREEN    HILL    FAR   AWAY 


JL   HERE  Is  a  green  hill  far  away. 

Without  a  city  wall, 
Where  the  dear  Lord  was  crucified. 

Who  died  to  save  us  all. 
We  may  not  know,  we  cannot  tell 

What  pains  he  had  to  bear; 
But  we  believe  it  was  for  us 

He  hung  and  suffered  there. 

He  died  that  we  might  be  forgiven, 

He  died  to  make  us  good, 
That  we  might  go  at  last  to  heaven, 

Saved  by  his  precious  blood. 
There  was  no  other  good  enough 

To  pay  the  price  of  sin; 
He  only  could  unlock  the  gate 

Of  heaven,  and  let  us  in. 

O,  dearly,  dearly  has  he  loved. 

And  we  must  love  him,  too. 
And  trust  in  his  redeeming  blood. 

And  try  his  works  to  do. 
For  there 's  a  green  hill  far  away, 

Without  a  city  wall. 
Where  the  dear  Lord  was  crucified. 

Who  died  to  save  us  all. 


CECIL      FRANCES     ALEXANDER 
— 


'^^;>yrp/\    ^^ 


yOSEPH  ADDISON (Milston,  Wiltshire, 
England,  May  /,  i6j2  —  London,  Jufie  ij, 
J  Jig),  one  of  the  greatest  of  all  writers  of 
English  prose,  was  the  author  of  five  hy??jns,  all 
of  which  have  been  considered  worthy  a  place 
in  the  permanent  songs  of  worship  of  the  church. 
This  hymn  is  said  to  have  been  composed  on 
returning  from  a  perilous  voyage  on  the  Medi- 
terranean in  the  year  IJOO,  but  it  was  not 
published  until  twelve  years  later,  when  it  ap- 
peared in  "■  The  Spectator  "  as  part  of  an  essay 
on  the  subject  of  "  The  Sea.'* 


[m] 


THE     TRAVELER'S     HYMN 


H, 


OW  are  thy  servants  blest,  O  Lord  ! 

How  sure  is  their  defence  ! 
Eternal  wisdom  is  their  guide, 

Their  help,  omnipotence. 
In  foreign  realms,  and  lands  remote, 

Supported  by  thy  care, 
Through  burning  climes  they  pass  unhurt, 

And  breathe  in  tainted  air. 

When  by  the  dreadful  tempest  borne 

High  on  the  broken  wave. 
They  know  thou  art  not  slow  to  hear, 

Nor  impotent  to  save. 
The  storm  is  laid,  the  winds  retire, 

Obedient  to  thy  will ; 
The  sea,  that  roars  at  thy  command. 

At  thy  command  is  still. 

In  midst  of  dangers,  fears,  and  deaths. 

Thy  goodness  we  '11  adore  ; 
We  '11  praise  thee  for  thy  mercies  past. 

And  humbly  hope  for  more. 
Our  life,  while  thou  preserv'st  that  life. 

Thy  sacrifice  shall  be ; 
And  death,  when  death  shall  be  our  lot. 

Shall  join  our  souls  to  thee. 


JOSEPH       ADDISON 

~1 


1  HE  Rev.  Edward  Hayes  Plufnptre^  D.D. 
(London^  Aug.  6,  1821  —  Wells,  Feb.  /, 
iSgiJf  belongs  to  the  school  of  modern  hyfnn 
writers,  his  songs  dealing  with  the  living  and 
the  active.  He  was  famed  not  only  as  a  grace- 
ful preacher,  but  also  as  a  writer  of  ?nany 
books.  This  hymn  was  written  in  186^,  for 
the  Choir  Festival  of  Peterborough  Cathedral. 
It  is  the  77iost  popular  of  all  Dr.  Plumptre' s 
hymns. 


[z6] 


THE     WARRIOR'S     SONG 


JVEJOICE,  ye  pure  in  heart ! 

Rejoice,  give  thanks,  and  sing  ! 
Your  glorious  banner  wave  on  high, 

The  cross  of  Christ  your  King  ! 

Still  lift  your  standard  high  1 

Still  march  in  firm  array  ! 
As  warriors,  through  the  darkness  toil, 

Till  dawns  the  golden  day  ! 

At  last  the  march  shall  end ; 

The  wearied  ones  shall  rest ; 
The  pilgrims  find  their  Father's  house, 

Jerusalem  the  blest. 

Then  on,  ye  pure  in  heart ! 

Rejoice,  give  thanks,  and  sing ! 
Your  glorious  banner  wave  on  high, 

The  cross  of  Christ  your  King  ! 


EDWARD     HAYES    PLUMPTRE 


[^7] 


^>< 

^ 

Harriet  Elizabeth  beecher 

STOWE  (LitchfielcU  Conn.,  June  14,  1811 
—  Hartford y  Conn.,  July  i,  i8<p6).  While 
the  fame  of  Mrs.  St  owe  will  always  rest  on  her 
first  novel,  "  JJncle  To7ns  Cabin,''  she  is  the 
author  of  three  hymns  which  have  passed  into 
general  use.  ^*  Resting  in  God,"  as  this  ojie 
was  first  called,  made  its  appearance  in  18^^ 
in  the  Plyniouth  Collection,  a  hymnal  prepared 
by  her  celebrated  brother,  Henry  Ward  Beecher, 
for  use  in  his  services.  While  perhaps  hardly 
ranking  among  the  foremost  hymns,  it  is  found 
to-day  in  all  the  great  collections.  It  is  espe- 
cially suited  to  smaller  gatherings  and  to  family 
devotions. 


[a8] 


\\      STILL,    STILL    WITH    THEE 


»3TILL,  still  with  thee,  when  purple  morning 
breaketh, 

When  the  bird  waketh,  and  the  shadows  flee ; 
Fairer  than  morning,  lovelier  than  the  daylight. 

Dawns  the  sweet  consciousness,  I  am  with  thee. 

Alone  with  thee,  amid  the  mystic  shadows, 
The  solemn  hush  of  nature  newly  born ; 

Alone  with  thee,  in  breathless  adoration, 
In  the  calm  dew  and  freshness  of  the  morn. 

When  sinks  the  soul,  subdued  by  toil,  to  slumber. 
Its  closing  eye  looks  up  to  thee  in  prayer; 

Sweet  the  repose,  beneath  thy  wings  o'ershadowing. 
But  sweeter  still  to  wake  and  find  thee  there. 

So  shall  it  be  at  last  in  that  bright  morning 
When  the  soul  waketh  and  life's  shadows  flee ; 

O,  in  that  hour,  and  fairer  than  day's  dawning, 
Shall  rise  the  glorious  thought,  I  am  with  thee  ! 


HARRIET    BEECHER    STOWE 


[^9] 


.^,-».  ♦i*.^— ^ 

7^  r 

mi 

J.  HIS  was  one  of  the  hymns  of  the  second  cru- 
sade ;  its  fifty  Lati?i  sta?izas  were  sung  by  the 
knights  of  the  cross  as  they  guarded  the  holy 
sepulchre.  Bernard  (Fontaines^  Burgundy^ 
logi  —  Clairvaux,  Aug.  20,  Il^j)  was  the 
author  of  a  nwnber  of  the  hymns  which  in  their 
modern  dress  are  amongst  the  most  popular  to- 
day. He  was  the  abbot  of  Clairvaux  from 
1 11^  to  the  time  of  his  death,  leading  an  active 
life  and  exerting  a  profound  infiue?ice  on  Euro- 
pean politics.  Many  translations  of  his  hyt?ins 
are  currefit,  but  the  one  most  generally  accepted 
is  that  given  here,  which  first  appeared  in 
^^  Lyra  Catholica''  in  iS^g.  It  is  the  work 
of  the  Rev.  Edward  Caswall,  an  English 
clergyman,  who  beca?ne  the  friend  and  adherent 
of  Cardinal  Newman. 


[30] 


JESU,    DULCE     MEMORIA 


J  ESUS,  the  very  thought  of  thee, 
With  sweetness  fills  the  breast : 

But  sweeter  far  thy  face  to  see, 
And  in  thy  presence  rest. 

No  voice  can  sing,  no  heart  can  frame, 

Nor  can  the  memory  find 
A  sweeter  sound  than  thy  blest  name, 

O  Savior  of  mankind! 

O  Hope  of  every  contrite  heart! 

O  Joy  of  all  the  meek  ! 
To  those  who  fall,  how  kind  thou  art ! 

How  good  to  those  who  seek ! 

But  what  to  those  who  find?     Ah  !  this. 

Nor  tongue  nor  pen  can  show, 
The  love  of  Jesus,  what  it  is. 

None  but  his  loved  ones  know. 

Jesus,  our  only  joy  be  thou. 

As  thou  our  prize  wilt  be ; 
Jesus,  be  thou  our  glory  now. 

And  through  eternity. 


BERNARD     OF     CLAIRVAUX 


[3X] 


"'^^.t      TJ  '    ^-  .^l  J^r  ,  '  "_  ,"y      -  L-"'    /■ 


<^     t'     -v^"-- 


I 


V-  _■-  4^  ^^r" •f"- >C-'"  r-"4i,iiai,'t^i.--  '  "^  --'^ 


Y  HE  sister  of  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti  was 
born  in  London,  Dec.  5,  18 JO,  and  died  in  the 
same  city  Dec.  jOy  iSg^.  She  was  a  lyric 
poet  of  a  high  order  and  a7nongst  her  verses  are 
found  many  of  a  char  filing  simplicity,  as  well 
as  others  of  simple  devotion  and  aspiration. 
The  song,  with  its  quaint  questions  and  answers, 
given  here,  perhaps  hardly  belongs  in  a  collec- 
tion of  hymns,  for  it  has  not  attained  any  wide 
popularity  or  general  use  in  the  churches.  Tet 
it  so  beautifully  voices  the  hope,  ojten  silent  and 
hidden,  in  all  our  hearts  and  comes  so  near  to  a 
song  that  all  may  sing,  that  it  deserves  to  be  one 
of  the  hymns  we  all  know. 


[3^] 


UP       HILL 


JL/OES  the  road  wind  up  hill  all  the  way  ? 

Yes,  to  the  very  end. 
Will  the  day's  journey  take  the  whole  long  day  ? 

From  morn  to  night,  my  friend. 

But  is  there  for  the  night  a  resting-place  ? 

A  roof  for  when  the  slow  dark  hours  begin. 
May  not  the  darkness  hide  it  from  my  face  ? 

You  cannot  miss  that  inn. 

Shall  I  meet  other  wayfarers  at  night  ? 

Those  who  have  gone  before. 
Then  must  I  knock,  or  call  when  just  in  sight  ? 

They  will  not  keep  you  standing  at  the  door. 

Shall  I  find  comfort,  travel-sore  and  weak  ? 

Of  labor  you  shall  find  the  sum. 
Will  there  be  beds  for  me  and  all  who  seek  ? 

Yea,  beds  for  all  who  come. 


CHRISTINA     GEORGINA     ROSSETTI 


[33] 


'■-•-^t^<^4. 


.M<L 


y  HE  author  of  this  hymn  is  a  descendant  of 
the  great  JVilliatn  Wilberforce  the  philajithropist, 
and  a  son  of  Samuel  Wilberforce^  the  bishop 
of  Oxford,  and  later  of  Winchester.  He  was 
born  in  1840  and  became  canoti  of  Winchester 
in  18  y8  and,  later,  bishop  of  Newcastle.  This  is 
his  only  hymn  which  has  attained  popularity,  and 
this  has  been  of  recent  growth.  It  was  written 
for  a  mornifig  prayer  at  private  devotions. 


1:34] 


JUST      FOR     TO-DAY 


L. 


rORD,  for  to-morrow  and  its  needs 

I  do  not  pray  ; 
Keep  me,  my  God,  from  stain  of  sin 

Just  for  to-day. 
Help  me  to  labor  earnestly 

And  duly  pray ; 
Let  me  be  kind  in  word  and  deed 

Father,  to-day. 

Let  me  no  wrong  or  idle  word 

Unthinking  say  ; 
Set  thou  a  seal  upon  my  lips 

Through  all  to-day. 
Let  me  in  season,  Lord,  be  grave, 

In  season  gay  ; 
Let  me  be  faithful  to  thy  grace, 

Dear  Lord,  to-day. 

And  if,  to-day,  this  life  of  mine 

Should  ebb  away. 
Give  me  thy  sacrament  divine. 

Father,  to-day. 
So  for  to-morrow  and  its  needs 

I  do  not  pray ; 
Still  keep  me,  guide  me,  love  me,  Lord, 

Through  each  to-day. 


ERNEST     R.     WILBERFORCE 


[35] 


'^^^^m^h^^..     .m 


The  Rev.  William  Williams  (Cefn-y-Coed, 
Wales,  lyiy  —  Pontycelyfiy  Jan.  ii,  Ijgi ) 
was  one  of  the  earliest  of  the  great  group  of 
Welsh  hym?i  singers.  Their  songs  are  not 
always  easily  rendered  into  Efiglish,  but  this 
one,  translated  by  Pedr  Williams  in  IJJ l^  has 
become  a  classic  in  many  other  tongues  besides. 
Its  author  was  at  first  a  deacon  in  the  English 
church,  but  he  spent  the  greater  part  of  his  life 
as  a  traveling  evangelist  for  the  Welsh  Cal- 
vinistic  Methodist  Connection.  The  full  force 
and  beauty  of  this  hymn  cannot  be  realized 
unless  one  has  heard  it  pealing  forth  from  the 
77iighty  lungs  of  the  Welsh  people  at  some  church 
gathering  where  the  whole  congregation  sings  as 
though  that  were  their  sole  business  in  life. 


[36] 


GUIDANCE 


UIDE  me,  O  thou  great  Jehovah, 
Pilgrim  thro'  this  barren  land  ; 
I  am  weak,  but  thou  art  mighty. 
Hold  me  with  thy  pow'rful  hand ; 

Bread  of  heaven, 
Feed  me  till  I  want  no  more. 

Open  now  the  crystal  fountain 

Whence  the  healing  streams  do  flow; 

Let  the  fiery,  cloudy  pillar 

Lead  me  all  my  journey  through  : 

Strong  Deliverer, 
Be  thou  my  strength  and  shield. 

When  I  tread  the  verge  of  Jordan, 
Bid  my  anxious  fears  subside ; 

Death  of  death  and  hell's  destruction, 
Land  me  safe  on  Canaan's  side  : 

Songs  of  praises 
I  will  ever  give  to  thee. 


WILLIAM      WILLIAMS 


[37] 


w 


!feS 


JL 


Mrs.  phcebe  hinsdale  brown 

was  born  at  Canaan,  N.  T.,  May  i,  ijSjy 
and  after  living  the  quiet,  retired  life  we  7night 
expect  fro  f7i  the  tone  of  the  hymn,  died  at  Henry, 
III.,  Oct.  10,  1861.  She  was  a  wofnan  of  a 
dreamy,  idealistic  temperament,  the  writer  of 
a  nuf7iber  of  introspective  poems.  This  hymn 
is  the  only  one  of  her  works  remaining  to  this 
day.  It  had  a  wide  popularity,  especially  with 
a  generation  now  rapidly  passing  away.  There 
are  fnany  who  can  remetnher  when  it  was  one 
of  the  tnost  general  favorites  atnongst  hytnns. 
Its  waning  popularity  is  fairly  indicative  of 
the  changed  emphasis  in  religious  worship. 


[38] 


RETIREMENT 


X  LOVE  to  steal  awhile  away 
From  every  cumbering  care, 

And  spend  the  hours  of  setting  day 
In  humble,  grateful  prayer. 

I  love  in  solitude  to  shed 

The  penitential  tear. 
And  all  his  promises  to  plead, 

Where  none  but  God  can  hear. 

I  love  to  think  on  mercies  past. 

And  future  good  implore. 
And  all  my  cares  and  sorrows  cast 

On  him  whom  I  adore. 

I  love  by  faith  to  take  a  view 
Of  brighter  scenes  in  heaven; 

The  prospect  doth  my  strength  renew. 
While  here  by  tempests  driven. 

Thus,  when  life's  toilsome  day  is  o'er. 

May  its  departing  ray 
Be  calm  as  this  impressive  hour. 

And  lead  to  endless  day. 


R 


^ 


PHCEBE    HINSDALE    BROWN 


[39] 


W>^.P- 


In  the  Church  of  St.  Mary  Woohioth,  Londotiy 
there  is  this  inscription :  ^^"Johji  Newton ^  clerk^ 
once  an  injidel  and  libertine^  a  servant  of  slaves 
in  Africa^  was,  by  the  rich  7?iercy  of  our  Lord 
and  Savior,  fesiis  Christ,  preserved,  restored, 
pardoned,  and  appointed  to  preach  the  faith  he 
had  long  labored  to  destroy,  near  sixteen  years  at 
Olney,  in  Buck;  and — years  in  this  church." 
This  is  the  brief  autobiography  of  the  man  who 
wrote  this  hymn,  which  ranks  among  the  best 
loved  of  all  the  songs  of  the  Christian  church. 
He  was  born  in  London  'July  24,  J- 7 2^,  and 
there  he  died  on  Dec.  24,  iSoj .  He  wrote 
many  other  hymns,  but  had  this  been  his  only 
composition  his  name  would  never  be  forgotten. 


[40] 


THE    NAME    ABOVE    ALL    OTHERS 


H. 


OW  sweet  the  name  of  Jesus  sounds 
In  a  believer's  ear  ! 
It  soothes  his  sorrows,  heals  his  wounds, 
And  drives  away  his  fear. 

It  makes  the  wounded  spirit  whole, 
And  calms  the  troubled  breast ; 

'T  is  manna  to  the  hungry  soul. 
And  to  the  weary  rest. 

Dear  name  !   the  rock  on  which  I  build, 

My  shield  and  hiding-place, 
Mv  never-failing  treasury,  filled 

With  boundless  stores  of  grace. 

Weak  is  the  effort  of  my  heart. 
And  cold  my  warmest  thought; 

But  when  I  see  thee  as  thou  art, 
I  '11  praise  thee  as  I  ought. 

Till  then,  I  would  thy  love  proclaim 

With  every  fleeting  breath  ; 
And  may  the  music  of  thy  name 

Refresh  my  soul  in  death. 


JOHN      NEWTON 


[4'J 


^^^Mi: 


jf  HIS  is  another  of  Fabers  great  hymns  which 
have  become  the  possession  of  peoples  of  all  com- 
munions. The  spirited  ?nanner  in  which  this 
hymn  is  sung  by  great  congregations  seetns  to 
ijidicate  that  the  f  re  that  burned  in  the  martyrs' 
breasts  has  not  died  out  entirely.  Such  hymns 
as  this  were  popular  in  Kngland  during  the 
recent  struggle  for  the  freedo?n  of  the  public 
schools  from  ecclesiastical  control  and  frequently 
were  sung  at  popular  meetings  as  well  as  at 
religious  services  in  the  free  churches. 


[42] 


FAITH    OF    OUR    FATHERS 


1?  AITH  of  our  fathers  !  living  still 
In  spite  of  dungeon,  fire,  and  sword; 

O  how  our  hearts  beat  high  with  joy 
Whene'er  we  hear  that  glorious  word  ! 

Faith  of  our  fathers  !   holy  faith  ! 

We  will  be  true  to  thee  till  death! 

Our  fathers,  chained  in  prisons  dark, 
Were  still  in  heart  and  conscience  free  ; 

How  sweet  would  be  their  children's  fate. 
If  they,  like  them,  could  die  for  thee  ! 

Faith  of  our  fathers  !  holy  faith! 

We  will  be  true  to  thee  till  death  ! 

Faith  of  our  fathers  !  we  will  love 
Both  friend  and  foe  in  all  our  strife  : 

And  preach  thee,  too,  as  love  knows  how, 
By  kindly  words  and  virtuous  life: 

Faith  of  our  fathers  !  holy  faith  ! 

We  will  be  true  to  thee  till  death ! 


FREDERICK     W.      FABER 


r. 


/f/jS  jo;/^  ynight  well  be  called  the  "  Thanks- 
giving Hymn''  ofthe  English  people.  It  was 
written  in  1 8 44  by  the  Rev.  He?iry  Alford, 
D.  D.  (London,  Oct.  "/,  18 10  —  Canterbury, 
yafi.  12,  l8j I ).  He  was  then  dean  of 
Canterbury  cathedral,  a  post  which  he  held 
until  his  death.  Alford  is  well  knowji,  both 
as  a  preacher  and  a  writer.  His  "  Greek 
Testa?nent "  was  for  many  years  a  standard 
work.  He  is  also  the  author  of  several  fne 
hymns.  In  English  churches  this  hyjnn  is 
always  sung  at  the  harvest  hofne  services,  which 
correspond  to  our  Thanksgivi?2g  day  gatherings. 
It  has  also  come  into  com?non  use  in  the  church 
services  on  our  national  day  of  praise.  It  is 
usually  sung  to  the  tune  of  ^^St.  George,'*  com- 
posed by  George  f.  Elvery. 

_ 


HARVEST     HOME 


V>iOME,  ye  thankful  people,  come, 
Raise  the  song  of  harvest  home  ! 
All  is  safely  gathered  in, 
Ere  the  winter  storms  begin  : 
God,  our  Maker,  doth  provide 
For  our  wants  to  be  supplied : 
Come  to  God's  own  temple,  come, 
Raise  the  song  of  harvest  home. 

We  ourselves  are  God's  own  field. 
Fruit  unto  his  praise  to  yield ; 
Wheat  and  tares  together  sown 
Unto  joy  or  sorrow  grown  ; 
First  the  blade,  and  then  the  ear ; 
Then  the  full  corn  shall  appear; 
Lord  of  harvest !  grant  that  we 
Wholesome  grain  and  pure  may  be. 

For  the  Lord  our  God  shall  come. 
And  shall  take  his  harvest  home  ; 
From  his  field  shall  purge  away 
All  that  doth  offend  that  day  ; 
Give  his  angels  charge  at  last 
In  the  fire  the  tares  to  cast ; 
But  the  fruitful  ears  to  store 
In  his  garner  evermore. 


DEAN     HENRY    ALFORD 


-•-,  ' 


,-->,  *,j  -j^ 


J.  HE  Rev.  Gerald  Moultrie  (London^  Eng- 
landy  Dec.  j/,  I^gg  —  Rugby,  Dec.  20y 
l8y4)y  a  graduate  of  Trinity ,  Cambridge ,  and 
the  rector,  during  the  years  of  his  ministry,  of 
Rugby,  was  the  writer  of  a  number  of  poems 
of  a  high  literary  value  and  beauty.  This  pro- 
cessional hymn  was  published  in  iSdj .  It  is 
a  good  example  of  the  new  type  of  church  songs 
in  which  service,  activity,  and  the  militant  ideas 
are  expressed.  To  the  setting  of  Baniby's  tu?ie, 
"  Great  Heart,**  it  is  sung,  as  the  ope?iing  hymn 
frequently,  while  it  is  one  of  the  7nost  popular 
processiofials  in  university  and  college  services. 


[46] 


THE    WARRIOR'S    MARCH 


Wi 


E  march,  we  march  to  victory, 
With  the  cross  of  the  Lord  before  us, 
With  his  loving  eye  looking  down  from  the  sky, 
And  his  holy  arm  spread  o'er  us. 

We  come  in  the  might  of  the  Lord  of  light, 

A  joyful  host  to  meet  him  : 
And  we  put  to  flight  the  armies  of  night. 

That  the  sons  of  the  day  may  greet  him. 

We  march,  we  march  to  victory. 

With  the  cross  of  the  Lord  before  us. 

With  his  loving  eye  looking  down  from  the  sky, 
And  his  holy  arm  spread  o'er  us. 

Our  sword  is  the  spirit  of  God  on  high. 

Our  helmet  is  his  salvation. 
Our  banner,  the  cross  of  Calvary, 

Our  watchword,  the  Incarnation. 

And  the  choir  of  angels  with  song  awaits 

Our  march  to  the  golden  Zion  ; 
For  our  captain  has  broken  the  brazen  gates, 

And  burst  the  bars  of  iron. 

Then  onward  we  march,  our  arms  to  prove. 
With  the  banner  of  Christ  before  us. 

With  his  eye  of  love  looking  down  from  above, 
And  his  holy  arm  spread  o'er  us. 

.(]■ 


GERALD       MOULTRIE 


Jl^ 


\    O^  fi'*  ^s:v  A 


■r\  .'      .->     ^  •-.■ 


Frederick  william  faber 

(l8l4-l86j)y  the  devout  Catholic  and  head  of 
the  Brompton  Oratory  y  was  the  author  of  many 
fine  hymns  of  devotion.  As  a  student  he  dis- 
tinguished himsef  at  Balliol^  Oxford^  whence 
he  was  graduated  i?i  l8j6,  and  his  en- 
thusiastiCy  poetic  tempera7nent  made  hitn  a 
marked  ?}ian  all  through  his  life.  For  a  time 
he  was  a  rector  in  the  Efiglish  churchy  but  in 
1846  he  gave  hi?nself  to  the  Roman  Catholic 
church  and  became  one  of  its  most  conspicuous 
figures  in  London.  In  no  song  of  worship  is 
there  a  more  catholic  spirit  than  in  this  one ; 
doubtless  this  accounts  for  its  phenomenal  leap 
into  popularity.  At  first  the  theologians  looked 
askance  upon  it^  but  the  people  found  it  and 
insisted  on  its  place  in  all  the  hymnals  and  its 
frequent  use  in  public  worship. 

— 


THE     LOVE     OF     GOD 


Ti 


HERE'S  a  wideness  in  God's  mercy 

Like  the  wideness  of  the  sea ; 
There's  a  kindness  in  his  justice, 

Which  is  more  than  liberty. 
There  is  plentiful  redemption 

In  the  blood  that  has  been  shed; 
There  is  joy  for  all  the  members 

In  the  sorrows  of  the  Head. 

Was  there  ever  kindest  shepherd 

Half  so  gentle,  half  so  sweet 
As  the  Savior  who  would  have  us 

Come  and  gather  round  his  feet? 
It  is  God;  his  love  looks  mighty, 

But  is  mightier  than  it  seems ; 
'Tis  our  Father;  and  his  fondness 

Goes  far  out  beyond  our  dreams. 

For  the  love  of  God  is  broader 

Than  the  measure  of  man's  mind; 
And  the  heart  of  the  Eternal 

Is  most  wonderfully  kind. 
If  our  love  were  but  more  simple. 

We  should  take  him  at  his  word ; 
And  our  lives  would  be  all  sunshine 

In  the  sweetness  of  our  Lord. 


FREDERICK    WILLIAM    FABER,    D.D.      / 


[49] 


&7  "  --~X'  .  .- 


Sir  JOHN  BOJVRING,  the  author  of 
many  beautiful  hymns^  is  said  to  have  known 
over  one  hundred  different  tongues  and  to  have 
been  able  to  coiiverse  in  ma7iy  of  them.  He 
translated  into  Knglish  the  folk-lore  and  songs 
of  tnany  nations.  His  best  known  hymn  is 
given  here.  It  was  published  in  his  collection 
of  hymns  in  1828 ,  and  has  maintained  a  wide 
popularity  ahnost  ever  since,  beijig  an  especial 
favorite  in  young  people' s  tyieetings.  Perhaps 
it  owes  its  place  in  no  small  measure  to  the  tu?ie 
**  Rathbrniy'  cotjiposed  by  I.  Conkey. 


[50] 


THE     CROSS     OF     CHRIST 


I 


N  the  cross  of  Christ  I  glory, 
Towering  o'er  the  wrecks  of  time  ; 
All  the  light  of  sacred  story 

Gathers  round  its  head  sublime. 

When  the  woes  of  life  o'ertake  me, 
Hopes  deceive,  and  fears  annoy. 

Never  shall  the  cross  forsake  me : 
Lo  !  it  glows  with  peace  and  joy. 

When  the  sun  of  bliss  is  beaming 
Light  and  love  upon  my  way. 

From  the  cross  the  radiance  streaming. 
Adds  new  lustre  to  the  day. 

Bane  and  blessing,  pain  and  pleasure. 
By  the  cross  are  sanctified  ; 

Peace  is  there,  that  knows  no  measure, 
Joys  that  through  all  time  abide. 

In  the  cross  of  Christ  I  glory. 

Towering  o'er  the  wrecks  of  time  ; 

All  the  light  of  sacred  story 

Gathers  round  its  head  sublime. 


SIR      JOHN      BOWRING 

_ 


fc<3 


^fy<^>^t^JL^-  '^^j^^-'^'^ 


g^=#^M.      .     ^;:^'<ii5^^Wi 


Alexander  pope  (London,  May 
21,  1688  —  Twickenham,  May  jo,  1744)^ 
the  great  English  poet  and  satirist,  wrote  a 
number  of  moral  and  religious  pieces,  yet  no 
other  one  has  found  its  way  into  the  hymn  books 
except  this,  taken  from  his  ''  Messiah,''  published 
in  I J 12.  This  selection  was  printed  in  "  The 
Spectator''  of  that  time.  Set  to  the  stirring 
tune  arranged  fro  fn  Lwolff  and  entitled  ^^  Mos- 
cow" it  makes  a  splendid  processional,  and  as 
such  it  is  in  general  use  at  Colle  Chapel  and 
sitnilar  assemblies.  It  must  be  confessed  that 
only  recently  has  the  church  realized  the  value 
of  its  forceful,  triumphant  ring. 


[5^] 


MESSIAH'S     REIGN 


JvISE,  crowned  with  light,  imperial  Salem,  rise  ! 
Exalt  thy  towering  head,  and  lift  thine  eyes ; 
See  heaven  its  sparkling  portals  wide  display, 
And  break  upon  thee  in  a  flood  of  day. 

See  a  long  race  thy  spacious  courts  adorn; 
See  future  sons  and  daughters  yet  unborn 
In  crowding  ranks  on  every  side  arise, 
Demanding  life,  impatient  for  the  skies. 

See  barbarous  nations  at  thy  gates  attend. 
Walk  in  the  light,  and  in  thy  temple  bend ; 
See  thy  bright  altars  thronged  with  prostrate  kings, 
While  every  land  its  joyful  tribute  brings. 

The  seas  shall  waste,  the  skies  to  smoke  decay, 
Rocks  fall  to  dust,  and  mountains  melt  away ; 
But  fixed  his  word,  his  saving  power  remains  ; 
Thy  realms  shall  last,  thy  own  Messiah  reigns  ! 


ALEXANDER      POPE 


^s^^m'S'f-      :^j^;^%t^r^.f^ 


:-:^ 


'mm^^'T^i^m 


1  HIS  hymn,  one  of  the  notable  inclusions  of 
the  new  Methodist  hymnal,  is  a  good  representa- 
tive of  the  new  type  of  songs  of  service,  laying 
its  emphasis  on  the  concrete  and  the  objective  and 
active  in  religion.  Its  author  is  a  Methodist 
Episcopal  clergyman  who  was  born  in  New 
York,  Dec,  j,  J'S^O,  and  who  is  now  engaged 
in  church  executive  and  editorial  work.  He  is 
the  writer  of  other  hymns. 


[54] 


THE    SERVICE     OF    MAN 


Wi 


HERE  cross  the  crowded  ways  of  life. 
Where  sound  the  cries  of  race  and  clan, 
Above  the  noise  of  selfish  strife, 
We  hear  thy  voice,  O  Son  of  Man ! 

In  haunts  of  wretchedness  and  need, 

On  shadowed  thresholds  dark  with  fears, 

From  paths  where  hide  the  lures  of  greed. 
We  catch  the  vision  of  thy  tears. 

From  tender  childhood's  helplessness. 

From  woman's  grief,  man's  burdened  toil. 

From  famished  souls,  from  sorrow's  stress. 
Thy  heart  has  never  known  recoil. 

The  cup  of  water  given  for  thee. 

Still  holds  the  freshness  of  thy  grace; 

Yet  long  these  multitudes  to  see 
The  sweet  compassion  of  thy  face. 

O  Master,  from  the  mountain  side, 

Make  haste  to  heal  these  hearts  of  pain. 

Among  these  restless  throngs  abide, 
O,  tread  the  city's  streets  again. 

Till  sons  of  men  shall  learn  thy  love 
And  follow  where  thy  feet  have  trod ; 

Till  glorious  from  thy  heaven  above 
Shall  come  the  city  of  our  God. 

FRANK      MASON      NORTH 
t55] 


iliVEN  a  brief  anthology  of  Rnglish  hyfuns 
would  of  necessity  contain  several  written  by 
the  talented  and  devoted  bishop  of  Calcutta.  In 
his  brief  but  intense  ministry  of  nineteen  years 
he  accomplished  much  good,  in  England,  in 
the  country  village  where  he  was  first  rector ^ 
and  afterwards  in  London,  and  also  in  India. 
This  hymn  was  written  while  he  was  rector  at 
Hodney,  about  i8ll.  While  it  is  intended  for 
the  first  week  of  the  new  year,  to  celebrate  the 
coming  of  the  Magi  to  the  iifant  Savior,  it  is 
used  and  greatly  enjoyed  by  congregations  every- 
where at  all  seasons. 


[56] 


"STAR     OF     THE     EAST" 


B 


RIGHTEST  and  best  of  the  sons  of  the 
morning  ! 
Dawn  on  our  darkness  and  lend  us  thine  aid ; 
Star  of  the  east,  the  horizon  adorning, 
Guide  where  our  infant  Redeemer  is  laid. 

Cold  on  his  cradle  the  dewdrops  are  shining, 
Low  lies  his  head  with  the  beasts  of  the  stall ; 

Angels  adore  him,  in  slumber  reclining. 
Maker,  and  Monarch,  and  Savior  of  all ! 

Say  shall  we  yield  him,  in  costly  devotion. 
Odors  of  Eldom  and  offerings  divine  ? 

Gems  of  the  mountain  and  pearls  of  the  ocean. 
Myrrh  from  the  forest  and  gold  from  the  mine  ? 

Vainly  we  offer  each  ample  oblation, 

Vainly  with  gifts  would  his  favor  secure; 

Richer  by  far  is  the  heart's  adoration  ; 

Dearer  to  God  are  the  prayers  of  the  poor. 

Brightest  and  best  of  the  sons  of  the  morning  ! 

Dawn  on  our  darkness  and  lend  us  thine  aid  ; 
Star  of  the  east,  the  horizon  adorning. 

Guide  where  our  infant  Redeemer  is  laid. 


BISHOP      REGINALD      HEBER 


[57] 


Philip  DODDRIDGE  (London,  June 
26,  IJ02  —  Lisbon,  Oct.  26,  1751)^  the 
famous  expositor,  general  writer,  and  autlior  of 
?nany  hymns,  was  an  English  Congregational 
?ninister.  He  becatne  pastor  of  a  church  at 
Kibsworth  at  the  age  of  twenty,  and  at  twefity- 
seven  he  was  engaged  in  training  others  for  the 
work  of  the  7?iinistry.  This  song  for  the  new 
year  was  given  to  the  public  in  the  collection 
of  Doddridge' s  hyjnns  published  in  IJ^S-  ^^ 
was  usually  sung  at  what  were  known  as  the 
^^watchiight  services''  of  the  last  generation, 
midnight  meetings  held  to  observe  the  going  out 
of  the  old  year  and  the  coming  in  of  the  new 
with  appropriate  hyt?ins  and  worship. 


[58] 


THE      NEW      YEAR 


VJREAT  God,  we  sing  tliat  mighty  hand 
By  which  supported  still  we  stand : 
The  opening  year  thy  mercy  shows ; 
Let  mercy  crown  it  till  it  close. 

By  day,  by  night —  at  home,  abroad. 
Still  we  are  guarded  by  our  God ; 
By  his  incessant  bounty  fed. 
By  his  unerring  counsel  led. 

With  grateful  hearts  the  past  we  own ; 
The  future  —  all  to  us  unknown  — 
We  to  thy  guardian  care  commit, 
And  peaceful  leave  before  thy  feet. 

In  scenes  exalted  or  depressed. 
Be  thou  our  joy  and  thou  our  rest; 
Thy  goodness  all  our  hopes  shall  raise. 
Adored,  through  all  our  changing  days. 

When  death  shall  close  our  earthly  songs, 
And  seal,  in  silence,  mortal  tongues. 
Our  Helper,  God,  in  whom  we  trust. 
Shall  keep  our  souls  and  guard  our  dust 


PHILIP      DODDRIDGE 


Sir  henrt  williams  baker 

(London,  England,  May  21,  1821  —  Monk- 
land,  Herefordshire,  Feb.  12,  iSjj)  was  not 
only  a  baronet,  but  he  was  also  a  clergyman  in 
active  service,  being  the  vicar  of  Monkland, 
He  was  the  author  of  ?na?iy  hymns  and  was 
appointed  chairman  of  the  committee  which  com- 
piled and  edited  that  splendid  collection  known 
as  *^  Hymns,  Ancient  and  Modern^  This 
hy?nn,  which  is,  of  course,  based  on  the  Twenty- 
third  Psalm,  was  published  in  1868.  A  pathetic 
interest  attaches  to  the  last  two  lines  of  the 
third  stanza ;  they  were  the  last  words  uttered 
by  their  author,  being  quoted  a  few  moments 
before  he  died.  The  hymn  is  usually  sung  to 
the  tune  ^^Dotninus  Regit,''  by  Dr.  Dykes. 


[60] 


THE    KING    OF    LOVE 


Ti 


HE  King  of  love  my  Shepherd  is, 
Whose  goodness  faileth  never, 
I  nothing  lack  if  I  am  his. 
And  he  is  mine  forever. 

Where  streams  of  living  water  flow 
My  ransomed  soul  he  leadeth. 

And  where  the  verdant  pastures  grow. 
With  food  celestial  feedeth. 

Perverse  and  foolish,  oft  I  strayed, 
But  yet  in  love  he  sought  me. 

And  on  his  shoulder  gently  laid. 
And  home,  rejoicing,  brought  me. 

In  death's  dark  vale  I  fear  no  ill 
With  thee,  dear  Lord,  beside  me. 

Thy  rod  and  staff  my  comfort  still, 
Thy  cross  before  to  guide  me. 

Thou  spread'st  a  table  in  my  sight, 
Thy  unction  grace  bestoweth. 

And,  O,  what  transport  of  delight 
From  thy  pure  chalice  floweth. 

And  so  through  all  the  length  of  days 
Thy  goodness  faileth  never. 

Good  Shepherd  !   may  I  sing  thy  praise 
Within  thy  house  forever. 

SIR    HENRY    WILLIAMS    BAKER 
[67] 


Francis  ROUS  (Halton,  Comwall, 
Englajid,  i^jg — Acton,  'Jan.  y,  l6^g)  was 
one  of  Cro??iweir  s  advisors  and  friends ,  at  one 
time  Provost  of  Eton  and  a  inember  of  the 
Westminster  Asseinbly.  He  published  a  version 
of  the  Psalms,  in  1 641,  which  included  this  one. 
This  paraphrase  of  the  Twenty -third  Psalm 
probably  represents  the  very  best,  the  most 
fa77iiliar  and  best  loved  of  all  the  Psalms  of 
the  Scottish  church.  Wherever  it  is  heard  it 
awakens  a  thrill  of  7nemory  and  devotion  greater 
and  deeper  than  even  that  aroused  by  ^'■Auld 
hang  Syfie.'* 


[6^] 


THE    SHEPHERD    PSALM 


T, 


HE  Lord  's  my  shepherd,  I  '11  not  want 
He  makes  me  down  to  lie 
In  pastures  green  ;  he  leadeth  me 
The  quiet  waters  by. 

My  soul  he  doth  restore  again ; 

And  me  to  walk  doth  make 
Within  the  paths  of  righteousness, 

Ev'n  for  his  own  name's  sake. 

Yea,  though  I  walk  in  death's  dark  vale. 

Yet  will  I  fear  no  ill ; 
For  thou  art  with  me,  and  thy  rod 

And  staff  me  comfort  still. 

My  table  thou  hast  furnished 

In  presence  of  my  foes  ; 
My  head  thou  dost  with  oil  anoint. 

And  my  cup  overflows. 

Goodness  and  mercy,  all  my  life, 

Shall  surely  follow  me  ; 
And  in  God's  house  for  evermore 

My  dwelling-place  shall  be. 


FRANCIS      ROUS 


[63] 


Frances  ridlet  havergal 

( Astley'y  Ejiglaiid,  Dec.  14,  18 j6 — Swansea ^ 
Wales,  "June  j,  18 jg)  was  the  7nost  facile  of 
the  modern  hymn  writers.  Her  complete  poetical 
works,  all  of  which  are  of  a  religious  character, 
make  a  large  volume.  In  connection  with  the 
young  people' s  church  organizations  many  of 
her  hymns  have  become  exceedingly  popular. 
The  ^^Consecration  Hymn'  is  used  to  this  day 
motr  than  any  other  song  in  the  jneetings  of  these 
societies,  as  well  as  be  i fig  a  favorite  with  popular 
church  gatherings. 


[64] 


A    CONSECRATION    HYMN 

A   AKE  my  life  and  let  it  be 
Consecrated,  Lord,  to  thee ; 
Take  my  hands,  and  let  them  move 
At  the  impulse  of  thy  love. 

Take  my  feet,  and  let  them  be 
Swift  and  beautiful  for  thee ; 
Take  my  voice,  and  let  me  sing 
Always,  only,  for  my  King. 

Take  my  lips,  and  let  them  be 
Filled  with  messages  from  thee ; 
Take  my  silver  and  my  gold, 
Not  a  mite  would  I  withhold. 

Take  my  moments  and  my  days, 
Let  them  flow  in  ceaseless  praise ; 
Take  my  intellect,  and  use 
Every  power  as  thou  shalt  choose. 

Take  my  will,  and  make  it  thine; 
It  shall  be  no  longer  mine ; 
Take  my  heart,  it  is  thine  own  ! 
It  shall  be  thy  royal  throne. 

Take  my  love;  my  Lord,  I  pour 
At  thy  feet  its  treasure-store ; 
Take  myself,  and  I  will  be. 
Ever,  only,  all  for  thee. 


FRANCES    RIDLEY    HAVERGAL 


Y  iJE  i^^i;.  'Joseph  Grigg  (Lotidon,  Englajid, 
iy28—iy68)^  first  a  7nechanic  and  afterwards 
a  useful  Presbyterian  minister ^  showed  signs  of 
poetic  power  early  in  life.  It  is  said  that  this 
hymn  was  written  when  he  was  but  a  young 
lady  though  it  was  not  published  ufitil  I J  J  4, 
when  it  appeared  in  "  The  Gospel  Magazine.'* 


[66] 


THE    CHRISTIAN'S    GLORY 


J  ESUS  !  and  shall  it  ever  be, 
A  mortal  man  ashamed  of  thee  ? 
Ashamed  of  thee,  whom  angels  praise. 
Whose  glories  shine  through  endless  days  ? 

Ashamed  of  Jesus  !  sooner  far 
Let  evening  blush  to  own  a  star; 
He  sheds  the  beams  of  light  divine 
O'er  this  benighted  soul  of  mine. 

Ashamed  of  Jesus  !  that  dear  Friend 
On  whom  my  hopes  of  heaven  depend  ! 
No;  when  I  blush  —  be  this  my  shame. 
That  I  no  more  revere  his  name. 

Ashamed  of  Jesus!  yes,  I  may. 
When  I  've  no  guilt  to  wash  away  ; 
No  tear  to  wipe,  no  good  to  crave. 
No  fears  to  quell,  no  soul  to  save. 

Till  then  —  nor  is  my  boasting  vain  — 
Till  then  I  boast  a  Savior  slain  ! 
And  oh,  may  this  my  glory  be. 
That  Christ  is  not  ashamed  of  me ! 


JOSEPH      GRIGG 

~1 


Isaac  watts  (Southampton,  England, 
July  77,  16^4 — London,  Nov.  2^,  1748)  is 
called  the  father  of  English  hy??inody,  preceding 
Charles  Wesley  in  poitit  of  tifne  and  probably 
surpassing  him  in  the  sustained  quality  and 
popularity  of  his  work.  He  was  an  Inde- 
pendent or  Congregational  preacher  debarred 
from  the  universities  for  his  religious  views 
and  hindered  in  his  work  by  infirmity  and  ill- 
ness. Some  authorities  consider  this  the  finest 
hymn  in  the  English  language,  while  the  rest 
place  it  second  only  to  Toplady  s  "  Kock  of 
Ages. ' '  Four  great  hymns,  *  *  Wondrous  Cross," 
^^Rock  of  Ages,"  *^yesus.  Lover  of  My  Soul," 
and  "Coronation,"  are  printed  in  ??iore  collec- 
tions, translated  into  more  tofigues,  and  used  in 
more  congregations  than  any  others.  These  four 
were  written  within  the  space  of  one  hundred 
years,  the  one  by  Watts  being  the  first  of  them. 


[68] 


THE    WONDROUS    CROSS 


Wi 


HEN  I  survey  the  wondrous  cross. 
On  which  the  Prince  of  Glory  died, 
My  richest  gain  I  count  but  loss, 
And  pour  contempt  on  all  my  pride. 

Forbid  it.  Lord !  that  I  should  boast, 
Save  in  the  death  of  Christ,  my  God  ; 

All  the  vain  things  that  charm  me  most 
I  sacrifice  them  to  his  blood. 

See,  from  his  head,  his  hands,  his  feet, 
Sorrow  and  love  flow  mingled  down  ; 

Did  e'er  such  love  and  sorrow  meet. 
Or  thorns  compose  so  rich  a  crown  ? 

His  dying  crimson,  like  a  robe. 
Spreads  o'er  his  body  on  the  tree ; 

Then  I  am  dead  to  all  the  globe. 
And  all  the  globe  is  dead  to  me. 

Were  the  whole  realm  of  nature  mine. 
That  were  a  present  far  too  small ; 
ove  so  amazing,  so  divine. 
Demands  my  soul,  my  life,  my  all. 


ISAAC    WATTS 


H^  HILE  the  circmnstances  of  the  composition 
of  this  hymn  are  ?iot  definitely  known  it  was 
probably  written  in  India  about  j8j6.  From 
that  land  it  has  journeyed  into  all  others  and  is 
now  a  universal  favorite  in  all  church  services. 
When  sung  to  the  tune  ^^  Lyons ^"  it  makes  an 
appropriate  and  inspiring  opening  hymn.  Its 
author,  Sir  Robert  Grant,  born  in  England, 
ijS^,  was  a  Scotch  Episcopalian.  He  became 
jnember  of  parliament  for  Inverness  and  later 
a  privy  councillor.  In  l8j4  he  was  appointed 
governor  of  Bombay.  His  literary  activity, 
which  resulted  in  several  books,  including  two 
on  India,  and  a  nutnber  of  good  hyf?ins,  belongs 
to  this  period.  He  died  at  Dapoorie,  India, 
July  g,  1838. 


[70] 


O,    WORSHIP    THE    KING 


o 


WORSHIP  the  King  all  glorious  above. 
And  gratefully  sing  his  wonderful  love ; 
Our  Shield  and  Defender,  the  Ancient  of  days, 
Pavilioned  in  splendor,  and  girded  with  praise. 

O,  tell  of  his  might,  and  sing  of  his  grace, 
Whose  robe  is  the  light,  whose  canopy  space ; 
His  chariots  of  wrath  the  deep  thunderclouds  form, 
And  dark  is  his  path  on  the  wings  of  the  storm. 

Thy  bountiful  care,  what  tongue  can  recite  ? 
It  breathes  in  the  air;  it  shines  in  the  light; 
It  streams  from  the  hills  ;  it  descends  to  the  plain  ; 
And  sweetly  distils  in  the  dew  and  the  rain. 

Frail  children  of  dust,  and  feeble  as  frail, 
In  thee  do  we  trust,  nor  find  thee  to  fail ; 
Thy  mercies  how  tender,  how  firm  to  the  end, 
Our  Maker,  Defender,  Redeemer,  and  Friend ! 

O,  measureless  Might,  Ineffable  Love, 
While  angels  delight  to  hymn  thee  above. 
The  humbler  creation,  though  feeble  their  lays, 
With  true  adoration  shall  hsp  to  thy  praise. 


SIR     ROBERT     GRANT 


Robert  robin  son  (Nor/oik,  Eng- 
land ^  Sept.  21^  173  s  —  Cambridge,  'June  g, 
1 700)  was  a  minister  of  the  gospel  who  served 
in  several  denominations.  In  his  day  he  was 
looked  upon  as  a  heretic  on  account  of  his  liberal 
opitiions,  and  he  suffered  ?iot  a  little  for  his  faith. 
He  wrote  one  other  well-known  hyt7in.  But 
there  are  few  hymns  by  any  writers  which  ap- 
proach this  in  general  popularity ;  it  has  been 
translated  into  many  languages,  sung  in  churches 
of  matiy  creeds,  and  shows  to-day  no  sign  of  a 
wane  in  its  acceptance  with  the  people. 


[7^] 


THE    FOUNT    OF    BLESSING 


c 


'OME,  thou  fount  of  every  blessing, 
Tune  my  heart  to  sing  thy  grace; 
Streams  of  mercy,  never  ceasing. 
Call  for  songs  of  loudest  praise. 

Teach  me  some  melodious  sonnet, 
Sung  by  flaming  tongues  above; 

Praise  the  mount,  O,  fix  me  on  it, 
Mount  of  God's  unchanging  love. 

Here  I  raise  my  Ebenezer, 

Hither,  by  thine  help,  I  'm  come  ; 

And  I  hope,  by  thy  good  pleasure, 
Safely  to  arrive  at  home. 

Jesus  sought  me  when  a  stranger, 
Wand'ring  from  the  fold  of  God  ; 

Pie,  to  rescue  me  from  danger. 
Interposed  with  precious  blood. 

O  !  to  grace  how  great  a  debtor 
Daily  1  'm  constrained  to  be ! 

Let  that  grace  now,  like  a  fetter, 
Bind  my  wand'ring  heart  to  thee  ! 

Prone  to  wander,  Lord,  I  feel  it, 
Prone  to  leave  the  Lord  I  love ; 

Here  's  my  heart,  O  take  and  seal  it ! 
Seal  it  for  thy  courts  above. 


ROBERT      ROBINSON 


[73] 


It  is  ?iot  long  since  this  hymn  passed  through 
a  period  of  the  same  kind  of  criticism  that  is 
now  being  given  to  ''Lead,  Kindly  Lights 
Partisan  prejudices  easily  blind  minds  incapable 
of  appreciating  poetic  truth,  but  the  verdict  of 
the  people  settles  these  things  in  the  end.  The 
fact  that  Fabers  evening  hymn  is  now  sung  at 
the  close  of  service  in  churches  of  all  faiths  and 
in  all  lands  well  illustrates  the  potency  of  reli- 
gious songs  to  overcome  sectarian  differences. 
It  was  written  in  l8^2  and  published  under 
the  title,  "  Evening  Hymn  at  the  Oratory,''  the 
reference  being  to  the  congregation  of  St.  Philip 
Neri,  which  was  founded  by  Faber  at  Birming- 
ha?n,  England,  and  afterwards  reinoved  to 
London. 


[74] 


A     PARTING     PRAYER 


OWEET  Savior !  bless  us  ere  we  go, 
Thy  word  into  our  minds  instill ; 

And  make  our  lukewarm  hearts  to  glow 
With  lowly  love  and  fervent  will. 

CHORUS 

Through  life's  long  day  and  death's 

dark  night, 
O  gentle  Jesus,  be  our  light. 
O  gentle  Jesus,  be  our  light. 

The  day  is  done,  its  hour  has  run  ; 

And  thou  hast  taken  count  of  all ; 
The  scanty  triumphs  grace  hath  won, 

The  broken  vow,  the  frequent  fall. 

Grant  us,  dear  Lord,  from  evil  ways. 
True  absolution  and  release  ; 

And  bless  us,  more  than  in  past  days. 
With  purity  and  inward  peace. 

Do  more  than  pardon  ;  give  us  joy, 
Sweet  fear,  and  sober  liberty. 

And  loving  hearts  without  alloy, 
That  only  long  to  be  like  thee. 

For  all  we  love,  the  poor,  the  sad. 
The  sinful,  unto  thee  we  call ; 

O !  let  thy  mercy  make  us  glad. 
That  art  our  Jesus  and  our  All. 


FREDERICK    WILLIAM     FABER 


[75] 


?S'5^#cii>^"4'^.^K-^^''»^4^ 


Mart  Artemisia   lathburt 

was  born  in  the  little  village  of  Manchester, 
Orleans  County,  N.  T.,  Aug.  lo,  1841.  She 
has  given  a  large  part  of  her  life  to  writing 
hymns  and  to  religions  interests.  At  the  re- 
quest of  Bishop  fohn  H.  Vincent  she  wrote  the 
first  two  verses  of  this  hymn  for  use  at  the 
evening  gatherings  at  the  Chautauqua  assem- 
bly, ill  1880.  Since  then  it  has  been  known  to 
all  who  have  participated  iji  those  vesper  ser- 
vices as  their  favorite  evening  hymn.  Stanzas 
three  and  four  were  added  by  the  author  quite 
recently.  The  hymn  has  won  for  itself  a  place 
in  the  front  rank  in  a  remarkably  short  ti?ne. 
It  should  be  sung  to  the  impressive  tune 
*^ Evening  Praise^'   by  Sherwin. 


[76] 


VESPER     HYMN 


D 


'AY  is  dying  in  the  west ; 
Heaven  is  touching  earth  with  rest; 
Wait  and  worship  while  the  night 
Sets  her  evening  lamps  alight 
Through  all  the  sky. 

CHORUS 

Holy,  holy,  holy,  Lord  God  of  Hosts  ! 
Heaven  and  earth  are  full  of  thee  ! 
Heaven  and  earth  are  praising  thee, 
O  Lord  most  high  ! 

Lord  of  life,  beneath  the  dome 
Of  the  universe,  thy  home. 
Gather  us  who  seek  thy  face 
To  the  fold  of  thy  embrace. 
For  thou  art  nigh. 

While  the  deepening  shadows  fall. 
Heart  of  love,  enfolding  all. 
Through  the  glory  and  the  grace 
Of  the  stars  that  veil  thy  face 
Our  hearts  ascend. 

When  forever  from  thy  sight 
Pass  the  stars,  the  day,  the  night, 
Lord  of  angels,  on  our  eyes 
Let  eternal  morning  rise 
And  shadows  end. 


MARY    ARTEMISIA    LATHBURY 


C'-^~''^'-'^-^^'>'oSX>  ^^^^>'-^s(  V'>^^"'>-i=*C " 


V 


HORATIUS  BONAR  (Edinburgh  Dec. 
jg,  1808 — 'July  ji,  i88g)  ranks  next  to 
Watts  and  Wesley  in  the  nu7nber  of  his  living 
hymns  and  in  their  popularity.  His  life  was 
passed  as  a  Presbyterian  minister  at  Kelso  and 
at  Edinburgh.  In  the  latter  city  his  work 
resembled  that  of  Bee c her  in  this  country.  It 
is  a  singular  fact  that,  while  he  wrote  most  of 
his  hymns  for  his  Sunday-school,  they  were  not 
per?nitted  to  be  sung  in  his  own  church  services. 
But  the  rest  of  the  world  readily  took  them  upy 
and  now  it  is  hard  to  find  a  hyjnnal  without 
twenty  or  thirty  of  his  hymns.  The  tune  '-^Vox 
Dilecti''  was  especially  written  for  this  hyf?in  ; 
it  carries  out,  in  a  striking  manner,  the  contrast 
between  the  first  and  the  second  halves  of  each 
stanza. 

— 


THE    VOICE    OF    JESUS 


X  HEARD  the  voice  of  Jesus  say  — 

"  Come  unto  me  and  rest ; 
Lay  down,  thou  weary  one,  lay  down 

Thy  head  upon  my  breast !  " 
I  came  to  Jesus  as  I  was. 

Weary  and  worn  and  sad ; 
I  found  in  him  a  resting-place, 

And  he  hath  made  me  glad. 

I  heard  the  voice  of  Jesus  say  — 

"  Behold,  I  freely  give 
The  living  water  ;  thirsty  one. 

Stoop  down,  and  drink,  and  live  1 " 
I  came  to  Jesus,  and  I  drank 

Of  that  life-giving  stream  ; 
My  thirst  was  quenched,  my  soul  revived. 

And  now  I  live  in  him. 

I  heard  the  voice  of  Jesus  say  — 

"  I  am  this  dark  world's  light ; 
Look  unto  me,  thy  morn  shall  rise. 

And  all  thy  day  be  bright !" 
I  looked  to  Jesus,  and  I  found 

In  him  my  Star,  my  Sun  ; 
And  in  that  light  of  life  I  '11  walk. 

Till  travelling  days  are  done. 


HORATIUS      BONAR 


JOHN  FAWCETT  (Lidget  Green,  York- 
shire, EnglaJid,  Jan.  6,  f/JQ  —  Wainsgate, 
'July  2^,  iSiy )y  an  E?iglish  Baptist  pastor, 
was  the  author  of  several  beautiful  hymns.  It 
is  said  that,  in  IJJ2,  after  he  had  served  the 
little  congregatiofi  at  Wains  gate  for  some  years, 
living  on  a  stnall  salary,  he  decided  to  accept  a 
call  to  an  important  church  in  London.  He 
packed  his  goods  and  prepared  to  leave.  But 
his  affection  for  his  people  led  him  to  recall  his 
acceptance  and  to  re?nain  with  them.  On  that 
occasion  he  wrote  this  hynin.  He  little  knew 
that  he  was  writing  a  hymn  that  would  be  sung 
in  many  lands  and  at  almost  all  times  of  part- 
ing and  of  reunion. 


[80] 


BLEST    BE   THE   TIE   THAT    BINDS 


LEST  be  the  tie  that  binds 
Our  hearts  in  Christian  love ; 
The  fellowship  of  kindred  minds 
Is  like  to  that  above. 

Before  our  Father's  throne 
We  pour  our  ardent  prayers  ; 

Our  fears,  our  hopes,  our  aims  are  one. 
Our  comforts  and  our  cares. 

We  share  our  mutual  woes. 

Our  mutual  burdens  bear; 
And  often  for  each  other  flows 

The  sympathizing  tear. 

When  we  asunder  part, 

It  gives  us  inward  pain  ; 
But  we  shall  still  be  joined  in  heart, 

And  hope  to  meet  again. 

This  glorious  hope  revives 

Our  courage  by  the  way  ; 
While  each  in  expectation  lives 

And  longs  to  see  the  day. 

From  sorrow,  toil,  and  pain, 

And  sin,  we  shall  be  free, 
And  perfect  love  and  friendship  reign 

Through  all  eternity. 


JOHN      FAWCETT,     D.D 
_ 


Richard  Baxter  (Rowton,  shrop- 

shire y  England,  Nov.  12,  l6l^  —  London, 
Dec.  8,  l6gi ),  one  of  the  first  great  Noncon- 
formists, the  author  of  "  The  Saint's  Rest,'' 
had  a  checkered  career  in  the  days  of  Cromiscell 
and  Charles.  He  is  represented  in  the  iv  or  ship 
of  the  churches  to-day  by  this  one  hymn,  'which 
must  be  counted  as  one  of  the  earliest  of  the 
modern  type  of  church  hy?nn.  Perhaps  it  is 
not  very  popular  to-day;  but  is  well  ivorth 
knowing  both  as  a  type  of  hyjnn  and  as  a  poetic 
setting  of  a  faith  that  is  good  for  any  age. 


[82] 


CONTENT 


i^ORD,  It  belongs  not  to  my  care 

Whether  I  die  or  live ; 
To  love  and  serve  thee  is  my  share. 

And  this  thy  grace  must  give. 

If  life  be  long,  I  will  be  glad 

That  I  may  long  obey  ; 
If  short,  yet  why  should  I  be  sad 

To  soar  to  endless  day  ? 

Christ  leads  me  through  no  darker  rooms 

Than  he  went  through  before; 
He  that  into  God's  kingdom  comes 

Must  enter  by  this  door. 

Come,  Lord,  when  grace  hath  made  me  meet 

Thy  blessed  face  to  see ; 
For,  if  thy  work  on  earth  be  sweet. 

What  will  thy  glory  be  ? 

My  knowledge  of  that  life  is  small ; 

The  eye  of  faith  is  dim  ; 
But  't  is  enough  that  Christ  knows  all. 

And  I  shall  be  with  him. 


RICHARD      BAXTER 


M"^ 


I  HE  Rev.  Washington  Gladden,  D.D.( Pitts- 
grove,  Pa.,  Feb.  ii,  i8j6),  is  the  pastor  of  the 
principal  Congregational  church  in  Columbus, 
O.,  and  at  present  the  president  of  the  Ameri- 
can Missionary  association.  He  was  educated 
at  Williams  College,  graduating  in  l8^g.  As 
the  editor  of  the  "  New  York  Independejit "  and 
of  the  *^  Sunday  Afternoon,''  and  as  a  writer  of 
religious  books  he  has  become  well  known,  while 
his  ca?}ipaign  against  the  acceptance  of  "  tainted 
inoney "  7nade  Jiiju  yet  more  widely  known. 
This  hymn  appeared  in  ^^  Sunday  Afternoon  "  in 
March,  i8jg.  In  view  of  the  ti??ie  usually 
fiecessary  for  a  hy?nn  to  come  into  general  use, 
**  Walking  with  God''  has  attained  a  remark- 
able degree  of  popularity ;  it  undoubtedly  be- 
lotigs  already  in  the  ranks  of  the  standard 
favorite  hymns. 


WALKING     WITH     GOD 


o 


MASTER,  let  me  walk  with  thee 
In  lowly  paths  of  service  free; 
Tell  me  thy  secret;   help  me  bear 
The  strain  of  toil,  the  fret  of  care. 

Help  me  the  slow  of  heart  to  move 
By  some  clear  winning  word  of  love ; 
Teach  me  the  wayward  feet  to  stay. 
And  guide  them  in  the  homeward  way. 

Teach  me  thy  patience !  still  with  thee 
In  closer,  dearer  company. 
In  work  that  keeps  faith  sweet  and  strong, 
In  trust  that  triumphs  over  wrong. 

In  hope  that  sends  a  shining  ray 
Far  down  the  future's  broadening  way ; 
In  peace  that  only  thou  canst  give. 
With  thee,  O  Master,  let  me  live. 


WASHINGTON     GLADDEN 


[85] 


\,*i  ^  \  cT-^'  '^■-^■'•^  ^^'f^if^^^y^'^^  ■^v^^>■^^*l^ .  ?^  iT  ' 


Charlotte  elliott  (Brighton, 

England y  March  i8,  ijSg  —  Brighton,  Sept. 
22,  187 1 )y  is  the  greatest  of  British  female 
hyj7in  writers,  having  to  her  credit,  in  all,  one 
hundred  and  fifty  hymns,  the  greater  nufnber  of 
which  are  recognized  as  stajidard.  Yet  she 
was  all  her  life  ahiiost  an  invalid,  spending  her 
days  in  quiet  literary  work  in  the  south  of  Eng- 
land and  on  the  Continent.  Without  question 
this  is  the  greatest  of  all  the  special  evangelistic 
hymns.  The  stories  told  of  its  power  over  the 
mind  and  heart  are  innumerable. 


[86] 


JUST     AS     I     AM 


J  UST  as  I  am,  without  one  plea, 
But  that  thy  blood  was  shed  for  me. 
And  that  thou  bidd'st  me  come  to  thee, 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come  ! 

Just  as  I  am,  and  waiting  not 
To  rid  my  soul  of  one  dark  blot, 
To  thee,  whose  blood  can  cleanse  each  spot, 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come  ! 

Just  as  I  am,  though  tossed  about 
With  many  a  conflict,  many  a  doubt. 
Fightings  within,  and  fears  without, 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come  ! 

Just  as  I  am,  poor,  wretched,  blind  ; 
Sight,  riches,  healing  of  the  mind. 
Yea,  all  I  need,  in  thee  I  find, 

O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come ! 

Just  as  I  am,  thou  wilt  receive. 

Wilt  welcome,  pardon,  cleanse,  relieve; 

Because  thy  promise  I  believe, 

O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come  ! 

Just  as  I  am,  thy  love  unknown 
Hath  broken  every  barrier  down  ; 
Now,  to  be  thine,  yea,  thine  alone, 
O  Lamb  of  God,  I  come ! 

CHARLOTTE     ELLIOTT 


1  HE  sisters  Alice  and  Phcche  Cary  were 
well  known  to  an  earlier  generation  for  their 
literary  work,  chiefy  of  a  poetical  character. 
Phoebe  was  born  fiear  Cincinnati,  Sept.  24, 
1826  ;  afterwards  she  removed  to  New  York. 
She  died  at  Newport,  R.  I.,  July  ji,  i8jl. 
This  is  the  only  example  of  her  work  found  in 
the  hymn  books  a?id  even  this  was  not  written 
for  a  hymn.  It  appeared  as  a  poem  in  a  very 
different  form  in  l8^2  and  the  present  metre 
was  not  adopted  until  i86g.  Since  then  the 
song  has  been  very  generally  used  and  counted 
as  a  favorite  both  for  church  services  and  for 
home  and  itidividual  use. 


[88] 


NEARER     HOME 


o 


NE  sweetly  solemn  thought 
Comes  to  me  o'er  and  o'er,  — 
I  am   nearer  home  to-day 

Than  I  ever  have  been  before. 

Nearer  my  Father's  house. 

Where  the  many  mansions  be ; 

Nearer  the  great  white  throne ; 
Nearer  the  crystal  sea ; 

Nearer  the  bound  of  hfe, 

Where  we  lay  our  burdens  down  ; 
Nearer  leaving  the  cross ; 

Nearer  gaining  the  crown. 

But  the  waves  of  that  silent  sea 
Roll  dark  before  my  sight, 

That  brightly  the  other  side 
Break  on  a  shore  of  light. 

O  if  my   mortal  feet 

Have  almost  gained  the  brinl:., 
If  it  be  I   am  nearer  home 

Even  to-day  than  I   think. 

Father,  perfect  my  trust ; 

Let  my   spirit  feel  in  death 
That  her  feet  are  firmly  set 

On  the  rock  of  a  living  faith. 


PHCEBE      GARY 


1  HIS  is  another  example  of  the  splendid  work 
accomplished  by  the  great  poet  of  the  early 
period  of  English  hymnody  in  paraphrasing  the 
Psalms.  Tie  here  gives  us  his  version  of  the 
Seventy-Second  Psalm.  Among  all  the  mis- 
sionary hymns  which  have  obtained  wide  cur- 
rency this  is  by  far  the  best  known  and  the 
best  liked  in  the  churches  and  by  the  people 
who  are  the  results  of  missionary  effort.  It 
has  been  translated  into  almost  every  tongue 
it! to  which  Christianity  has  gone.  It  was 
sung  at  the  great  gathering  of  converts  froju 
the  islands  of  Sai?ioa,  Tonga,  and  Fiji,  in 
l862y  when  these  people  forrnally  renoiuiced 
their  old  faith  for  the  new. 


[90] 


MESSIAH'S     KINGDOM 


J  ESUS  shall  reign  where'er  the  sun 
Does  his  successive  journeys  run; 
His  kingdom  spread  from  shore  to  shore, 
Till  moons  shall  wax  and  wane  no  more. 

From  north  to  south  the  princes  meet 
To  pay  their  homage  at  his  feet ; 
While  western  empires  own  their  Lord 
And  savage  tribes  attend  his  word. 

To  him  shall  endless  prayer  be  made. 
And  endless  praises  crown  his  head  ; 
His  name  like  sweet  perfume  shall  rise 
With  every  morning  sacrifice. 

People  and  realms  of  every  tongue 
Dwell  on  his  love  with  sweetest  song, 
And  infant  voices  shall  proclaim 
Their  early  blessings  on  his  name. 

Let  every  creature  rise  and  bring 
Peculiar  honors  to  our  King ; 
Angels  descend  with  songs  again. 
And  earth  repeat  the  loud  Amen. 


ISAAC      WATTS 


[91] 


'^^^^% 

"^K 


Oliver  wendell  holmes 

(Cambridge,  Mass.,  Aug.  2g,  l8og —  Oct. 
/,  l8g4)y  professor  in  Harvard  Medical 
School,  is  well  known  as  an  essayist,  poet,  and 
novelist.  One  year  after  his  graduation  from 
Harvard  he  fairly  leaped  into  fatne  with  his 
poem,  "  Old  Ironsides.'*  He  is  best  known 
to-day  for  his  series  of  essays.  The  hyjnn  given 
here  is  always  a  favorite  in  gatherings  of 
people  of  different  denomijiations  and  creeds. 
It  beautifully  expresses  aspiration  and  worship, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  admits  of  the  widest 
doctrinal  divergencies.  No  other  tune  seems 
to  suit  this  hymn  quite  so  well  as  ^^  Louvan,'* 
by  V.  C.  Taylor. 


[9-] 


LORD     OF     ALL     BEING 


JL/ORD  of  all  being;  throned  afar, 
Thy  glory  flames  from  sun  and  star; 
Center  and  soul  of  every  sphere. 
Yet  to  each  loving  heart  how  near ! 

Sun  of  our  life,  thy  quickening  ray 
Sheds  on  our  path  the  glow  of  day  ; 
Star  of  our  hope,  thy  softened  light 
Cheers  the  long  watches  of  the  night. 

Our  midnight  is  thy  smile  withdrawn  ; 
Our  noontide  is  thy  gracious  dawn  ; 
Our  rainbow  arch  thy  mercy's  sign  ; 
All,  save  the  clouds  of  sin,  are  thine  ! 

Lord  of  all  life,  below,  above. 

Whose  light  is  truth,  whose  warmth  is  love. 

Before  thy  ever  blazing  throne 

We  ask  no  luster  of  our  own. 

Grant  us  thy  truth  to  make  us  free, 
And  kindling  hearts  that  burn  for  thee. 
Till  all  thy  living  altars  claim 
One  holy  light,  one  heavenly  flame ! 


OLIVER     WENDELL     HOLMES 


jicCORDING  to  the  ''Anglican  Hyfn- 
nology^'  which  is  a  seffii-qfficial  estimate  of  the 
popularity  of  church  hymns ^  Bishop  Ken  has 
two  titles  to  his  credit  amongst  the  ten  greatest 
songs  of  worship.  His  evening  cojjiposition, 
"  All  Praise  to  Thee,  My  God,  This  Night," 
ranks  fr St  of  all,  and  ''Awake,  My  Soul,''  is 
given  the  sixth  place.  He  wrote  both  these 
hymns  while  in  his  charge  at  Winchester,  the 
scene  of  his  early  education.  At  his  own 
request  the  good  bishop  was  buried  under  the 
east  window  of  the  chancel  at  Fro??ie  Selwood, 
being  interred  just  at  sunrise,  while  those  gath- 
ered about  the  grave  sang,  "  Awake,  My  Soul, 
and  with  the  Sun.'' 


[9+] 


A  WA  KE,     MY     SOUL 


A' 


.WAKE,  my  soul,  and  with  the  sun 
Thy  daily  stage  of  duty  run  ; 
Shake  off  dull  sloth,  and  joyful  rise 
To  pay  thy  morning  sacrifice. 

Awake,  lift  up  thyself,  my  heart. 
And  with  the  angels  bear  thy  part. 
Who  all  night  long  unwearied  sing 
High  praises  to  th'  eternal  King. 

Glory  to  thee,  who  safe  hast  kept. 
And  hast  refreshed  me  while  I  slept ; 
Grant,  Lord,  when  I  from  death  shall  wake, 
I  may  of  endless  life  partake. 

Lord,  I  my  vows  to  thee  renew : 
Scatter  my  sins  as  morning  dew ; 
Guard  my  first  springs  of  thought  and  will. 
And  with  thyself  my  spirit  fill. 

Direct,  control,  suggest,  this  day. 
All  I  design,  or  do,  or  say  ; 
That  all  my  powers,  with  all  my  might. 
In  thy  sole  glory  may  unite. 


BISHOP     THOMAS     KEN 


[95] 


■^  ■  4-  J 


Nicolas  LUDWIG,  count  von  Zinze?i- 
dorf  (Dresden^  May  26  ^  I J  00  —  Hernhutt^ 
May  g,  lj6o),  is  said  to  have  written  two 
tJjousand  hyinns,  improvising  no  small  number 
of  them,  frequently  giving  the  people  a  hymn  to 
close  the  service  immediately  after  preaching 
on  its  subject.  He  was  educated  at  Witten- 
berg and  becajne  a  bishop  of  the  Moravian 
church.  He  visited  the  United  States  duri?ig 
a  tifne  of  persecution  in  Saxony.  Some  of  his 
hymns  translated  by  John  Wesley  and  others 
are  amofigst  the  best  hiown  in  the  English 
to-day.  This  one,  e?ititled  at  ho?ne  "  fesu 
gehy  voran^''  is  translated  by  Miss  fane  Borth- 
wick.  U.  C.  Burnap  wrote  a  very  good  tune 
for  it. 


[96] 


TO     OUR     FATHERLAND 


Jesus,  stlll  lead  on, 

Till  our  rest  be  won  ; 
And  although  the  way  be  cheerless. 
We  will  follow  calm  and  fearless ; 

Guide  us  by  thy  hand 

To  our  Fatherland. 

If  the  way  be  drear. 

If  the  foe  be  near, 
Let  not  faithless  fear  o'ertake  us, 
Let  not  faith  and  hope  forsake  us ; 

For,  through  many  a  foe, 

To  our  home  we  go. 

When  we  seek  relief 
From  a  long-felt  grief. 
When  temptations  come,  alluring. 
Make  us  patient  and  enduring, 
Show  us  that  bright  shore. 
Where  we  weep  no  more. 

Jesus,  still  lead  on. 

Till  our  rest  be  won  ; 
Heavenly  Leader,  still  direct  us, 
Still  support,  console,  protect  us, 

•  Till  we  safely  stand 

In  our  Fatherland. 


COUNT      VON      ZINZENDORF 


[97] 


J^ 


AMES  MONTGOMERT  (Ayrshire, 
Scotland^  Nov.  ^,  lyyi — Sheffield,  England, 
April  JO,  18^4 Jy  editor,  publisher,  and  poet, 
was  the  author  of  over  four  hundred  hymns. 
He  is  the  one  layman,  beside  Cowper,  ivho 
has  attained  fa7?ie  as  the  writer  of  a  hymn  be- 
longing in  the  front  rank.  As  an  editor  he 
was  an  ardent  reformer,  and  this  cost  him 
fines  and  if?jprison??ient  many  times;  but  his 
fatne  as  a  poet  led  the  government  to  grant 
him  an  annual  pension  in  his  later  years.  In 
Dr.  Benson's  list  of  the  best  church  hymns  this 
one  is  given  the  tenth  place.  Its  popularity 
is  great  in  every  land,  and  it  has  not  only 
become  a  standard  church  hymn,  but,  set  to 
many  bright  tunes,  it  is  a  favorite  in  religious 
meetings  of  all  kinds. 


JERUSALEM,   MY    HAPPY    HOME 


J  ERUSALEM,  my  happy  home. 

Name  ever  dear  to  me  ! 
When  shall  my  labors  have  an  end, 

In  joy  and  peace  and  thee? 
When  shall  these  eyes  thy  heaven  built  walls 

And  pearly  gates  behold  ? 
Thy  bulwarks  with  salvation  strong, 

And  streets  of  shining  gold  ? 

There  happier  bowers  than  Eden's  bloom. 

Nor  sin  nor  sorrow  know. 
Blest  seats  !   thro'  rude  and  stormy  scenes 

I  onward  press  to  you. 
Why  should  I  shrink  at  pain  and  woe. 

Or  feel  at  death  dismay  ? 
I  've  Canaan's  goodly  land  in  view. 

And  realms  of  endless  day. 

Apostles,  martyrs,  prophets,  there 

Around  my  Savior  stand  ; 
And  soon  my  friends  in  Christ  below 

Will  join  the  glorious  band. 
Jerusalem,  my  happy  home  1 

My  soul  still  pants  for  thee : 
Then  shall  my  labors  have  an  end. 

When  I  thy  joys  shall  see. 


JAMES     MONTGOMERY 


>>- 


1  HE  Rev.  John  Ellerton  (London^  Dec.  i6y 
1826  —  White  Roding,  i8gj)  is  the  author 
of  a  iiumber  of  the  f)iost  stately  of  our  familiar 
modern  hytJins.  He  was  a  clergyman  of  the 
English  Episcopal  church,  educated  at  Trinity , 
Cambridge,  spendifig  his  life  in  quiet  country 
churches  and  writijig  these  beautiful  hymns. 
This  Easter  hy??in  he  gave  to  the  public  in 
1868  as  a  rendering  of  the  ^^  Salve,  festa  dies'* 
of  Fortunatus.  The  old  Latin  version  is  the 
one  which  ferojne  of  Prague  is  said  to  have 
sung  on  his  way  to  death  at  the  stake.  The 
English  version,  by  Ellerton ^  will  probably  be 
sung  on  Easter  Sunday  morning  in  almost  every 
church  all  over  the  world  wherever  that  tongue 
is  spoken. 


[  100] 


EASTER     HYMN 


Wi 


ELCOME,  happy  morning!     Age  to  age 
shall  say 
Hell  to-day  is  vanquished,  heaven  is  won  to-day  ! 
Lo  !  the  dead  is  living,  Lord  for  evermore  ! 
Him,  their  true  Creator,  all  his  works  adore ! 

Maker  and  Redeemer,  life  and  health  of  all. 
Thou,  from  heaven  beholding  human  nature's  fall, 
Of  the  Father's  godhead  true  and  only  son, 
Manhood  to  deliver,  manhood  didst  put  on. 

Thou,  of  life  the  author,  death  did  undergo. 
Tread  the  path  of  darkness,  saving  strength  to 

show. 
Come,  then,  true  and  faithful,  now  fulfill  thy  word  ; 
'T  is  thine  own  third  morning;  rise,  O  buried  Lord. 

Loose  the  souls  long  prisoned,  bound  with  Satan's 

chain ; 
All  that  now  is  fallen  raise  to  life  again  ; 
Show  thy  face  in  brightness,  bid  the  nations  see, 
Bring  again  our  daylight ;  day  returns  with  thee  ! 


JOHN     ELLERTON 

[lOl] 


1  HIS  hymn  of  the  Resurrect  ion  y  by  Charles 
Wesley y  has  taken  its  place  with  the  foremost 
hymns  of  the  church  on  this  subject.  It  is 
found  in  practically  all  the  hyttinalsy  and  has 
been  ranked^  both  on  popularity  and  on  intrinsic 
merity  among  the  best  twenty-five  hy??ins  of 
Christendom.  It  is  sung  in  a  great  many 
churches  all  over  the  world  on  the  morning 
of  Easter  day,  and  most  frequently  in  the  form 
given  herCy  to  the  tune  written  by  f .  Worgan 
and  entitled  "  Easter  Hymn^ 


[  1°^] 


AN     EASTER     HYMN 


c 


HRIST,  the  Lord,  is  risen  to-day; 
Hallelujah  ! 
Sons  of  men  and  angels  say: 
Hallelujah  ! 

Raise  your  joys  and  triumphs  high  : 

Hallelujah  ! 
Sing,  ye  heavens,  and  earth  reply  : 

Hallelujah  ! 

Love's  redeeming  work  is  done, 
Fought  the  fight,  the  battle  won  : 
Lo  !  our  sun's  eclipse  is  o'er; 
Lo !  he  sets  in  blood  no  more. 

Vain  the  stone,  the  watch,  the  seal, 
Christ  hath  burst  the  gates  of  hell : 
Death  in  vain  forbids  him  rise, 
Christ  hath  opened  paradise. 

Lives  again  our  glorious  king : 
Where,  O  death,  is  now  thy  sting? 
Once  he  died,  our  souls  to  save : 
Where  thy  victory,  O  grave  ? 

Soar  we  now  where  Christ  hath  led. 
Following  our  exalted  head  : 
Made  like  him,  like  him  we  rise : 
Ours  the  cross,  the  grave,  the  skies. 


CHARLES      WESLEY 
[103] 


%m^'J^  ^^^Btk^^l^, 


V;<SS%^ 


i'     ^ 


yOHN   GREENLEAF  WHITTIER 

(Haverhill,  Mass.,  Dec.  //,  iSoy  —  Hamp- 
ton Falls,  N.  H.,  Sept.  /,  i8g2)y  was  a  man 
whose  beautiful  catholicity  of  spirit  is  clearly 
seen  in  all  the  hymns  that  the  churches  have 
adopted  from  his  poems.  Perhaps  the  rapidly 
growing  popularity  of  his  hyinns  is  indicative 
of  a  spread  in  the  churches  of  the  spirit  which 
he  so  earnestly  advocated.  The  whole  of  the 
beautiful  poeni  entitled  *^Our  Master,''  fro jn 
which  these  stanzas  are  taken,  should  be  read 
in  order  to  appreciate  fully  the  poet' s  spirit  in 
the  hymn. 


[104] 


OUR     MASTER 


W] 


E  may  not  climb  the  heavenly  steeps 
To  bring  the  Lord  Christ  down  ; 
In  vain  we  search  the  lowest  deeps, 
For  him  no  depths  can  drown. 

But  warm,  sweet,  tender  even  yet 

A  present  help  is  he; 
And  faith  has  still  its  Olivet, 

And  love  its  Galilee. 

The  healing  of  the  seamless  dress 

Is  by  our  beds  of  pain  ; 
We  touch  him  in  life's  throng  and  press, 

And  we  are  whole  again. 

Through  him  the  first  fond  prayers  are  said 

Our  lips  of  childhood  frame; 
The  last  low  whispers  of  our  dead 

Are  burdened  with  his  name. 

O  Lord  and  Master  of  us  all, 

Whate'er  our  name  or  sign, 
We  own  thy  sway,  we  hear  thy  call. 

We  test  our  lives  by  thine. 


JOHN    GREENLEAF    WHITTIER 


Edward  henrt  bickersteth 

(Lofidon,  Jan.  2^,  182^),  an  English  Epis- 
copaliany  who  was  created  bishop  of  Exeter 
in  188^,  is  the  author  of  a  religious  poem^ 
"  Yesterday,  To-day,  and  Forever,''  of  the 
hymnal  companion  to  the  Book  ofCo?7imon  Prayer, 
and  of  a  nutnber  of  hytnns.  "  Perfect  Peace 
is  especially  noteworthy  as  the  favorite  hymn 
of  ^een  Victoria,  being  often  swig  by  request 
in  the  services  which  she  atte?ided.  While  this 
is  one  of  the  new  hymns,  having  been  written 
but  a  few  years,  it  is  finding  a  place  in  all 
the  standard  collections,  and  its  growing  popu- 
larity will  probably  give  it  a  per7nanent  place 
amo7igst  the  great  hymns.  It  is  usually  sung 
to  the  stately  tune  "  Pax  Tecum.'' 


[106] 


PERFECT     PEACE 


±  EACE,  perfect  peace,  in  this  dark  world  of  sin  ? 
The  blood  of  Jesus  whispers  peace  within. 

Peace,  perfect  peace,  by  thronging  duties  pressed  ? 
To  do  the  will  of  Jesus,  this  is  rest. 

Peace,  perfect  peace,  with  sorrows  surging  round  ? 
On  Jesus'  bosom  naught  but  calm  is  found. 

Peace,  perfect  peace,  with  loved  ones  far  away  ? 
In  Jesus'  keeping  we  are  safe  and  they. 

Peace,  perfect  peace,  our  future  all  unknown  ? 
Jesus  we  know  and  he  is  on  the  throne. 

Peace,  perfect  peace,  death  shadowing  us  and  ours  ? 
Jesus  has  vanquished  death  and  all  its  powers. 

It  is  enough  ;  earth's  struggles  soon  shall  cease. 
And  Jesus  call  us  to  heaven's  perfect  peace. 


EDWARD    HENRY    BICKERSTETH 

[  i°7] 


Frederick  william  faber 

has  given  to  the  church  of  all  Christendo?n 
several  beautiful  hymnsy  but  this  is  one  that 
seems  to  touch  the  deepest  longing  of  the  hearts 
of  men  everywhere,  and  therefore  it  is  one  of  the 
most  popular  of  all  the  works  of  this  gifted 
writer.  It  is  found  in  every  collection  of 
hymns  that  claims  anythifig  approaching  co?n- 
pletenesSy  regardless  of  denomination  or  creed, 
although  the  days  are  not  many  since  it  would 
have  been  rigidly  excluded  from  the  greater 
number.  This  universality  of  use  is  due  not 
only  to  a  greater  toleration,  but  to  the  accuracy 
with  which  this  hymn  expresses  the  present 
world  weariness  and  longing  for  rest.  The 
beautiful  tune,  entitled  "  Paradise,'^  was  corn- 
posed  especially  for  this  hymn  by  Sir  foseph 
Barnby. 


PARADISE 


o 


PARADISE,  O  Paradise, 
Who  doth  not  crave  for  rest? 
Who  would  not  seek  the  happy  land 
Where  they  that  loved  are  blest? 
Where  loyal  hearts  and  true 
Stand  ever  in  the  light, 
All  rapture  through  and  through. 
In  God's  most  holy  sight. 

O  Paradise,  O  Paradise, 
The  world  is  growing  old  ; 

Who  would  not  be  at  rest  and  free 
Where  love  is  never  cold  ? 

Where  loyal  hearts  and  true,  etc. 

O  Paradise,  O  Paradise, 

I  greatly  long  to  see 
The  special  place  my  dearest  Lord 

In  love  prepares  for  me  ; 

Where  loyal  hearts  and  true,  etc. 

Lord  Jesus,  King  of  Paradise, 

O  keep  me  in  thy  love. 
And  guide  me  to  that  happy  land 
Of  perfect  rest  above  ; 

Where  loyal  hearts  and  true 
Stand  ever  in  the  light. 
All  rapture  through  and  through, 
In  God's  most  holy  sight. 

FREDERICK    WILLIAM     FABER 


[109]  HUIA 


M^ HILE  the  authorship  of  this  popular 
hymn  has  been  generally  attributed  to  Elizabeth 
C.  Clephane,  a  contributor  to  "  The  Christian  " 
of  Boston^  it  has  always  been  associated  with 
the  natne  of  Ira  D.  Sankey,  the  singing  cotji- 
panion  of  Dwight  L.  Moody.  The  poem  was 
unknown  until  Mr.  Sankey,  looking  for  some- 
thing that  would  touch  the  shepherds  of  Scot- 
landy  chanced  on  this  in  the  corner  of  an 
obscure  paper.  He  took  it  to  the  meeting  and 
extemporized  the  melody  to  which  he  rendered 
it.  The  words  and  the  air  immediately  sprang 
into  great  popularity  a?id  were  called  for  at  all 
the  meetings.  It  was  the  leader  in  the  remark- 
able revival  of  congregatiofial  singing  which 
still  prevails  i?i  the  churches. 


[,,0] 


THE    NINETY    AND    NINE 


HERE  were  ninety  and  nine  that  safely  lay 

In  the  shelter  of  the  fold, 
But  one  was  out  on  the  hills  away, 

Far  off  from  the  gates  of  gold  ; 
Away  on  the  mountains,  cold  and  bare, 
Away  from  the  shepherd's  tender  care. 

Lord,  thou  hast  here  thy  ninety  and  nine ; 

Are  they  not  enough  for  thee  ? 
But  the  Shepherd  answered  :  "  One  of  mine 

Has  wandered  away  from  me. 
And  tho'  the  way  be  rough  and  steep, 
I  go  to  the  desert  to  find  my  sheep." 

But  none  of  the  ransomed  ever  knew 
How  deep  were  the  waters  crossed. 

Nor  how  dark  the  night  which  the  Lord  went 
thro' 
Ere  he  found  the  sheep  that  was  lost. 

Out  in  the  desert  he  heard  its  cry ; 

'T  was  sick,  and  helpless,  and  ready  to  die. 

But  all  thro'  the  mountains,  thunder  riven. 

And  up  from  the  rocky  steep. 
There  rose  a  cry  to  the  gate  of  heaven  : 

"  Rejoice  !     I  have  found  my  sheep  !  " 
And  the  angels  echoed  around  the  throne : 
"  Rejoice  !  for  the  Lord  brings  back  his  own  !  " 


E.   C.   CLEPHANE  AND  IRA  D.   SANKEY 


t-  ■■  ^    .-^  .  •    ^  -  /\ 


FaNNT  y.  CROSBT,  the  blind  singer, 
blind  since  she  was  six  fnofiths  old,  is  the 
author  of  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood  of  Jive 
thousand  hymns  and  songs.  Many  of  these 
have  had  a  rernarkable  popularity,  but  it  has 
always  been  of  a  passifig  character.  This 
hymn  deserves  mention,  not  for  any  poetic 
beauty,  but  for  the  remarkable  part  it  has 
played  in  many  religious  revivals  in  all  parts 
of  the  world.  It  has  been  sung  so  much  in 
missions  and  at  eva?igelistic  services  that  its 
words  and  air  are  known  to  many  thousands 
who  never  enter  a  church.  Fanny  Crosby  s 
real  fiame  is  Mrs.  Frances  fane  Van  Alstyne ; 
she  was  born  March  24,  1820,  at  South- 
east, N.  r. 


["-] 


RESCUE    THE    PERISHING 


R 


ESCUE  the  perishing, 

Care  for  the  dying, 
Snatch  them  in  pity  from  sin  and  the  grave ; 

Weep  o'er  the  erring  one, 

Lift  up  the  fallen. 
Tell  them  of  Jesus,  the  mighty  to  save. 

Tho'  they  are  slighting  him. 

Still  he  is  waiting, 
Waiting  the  penitent  child  to  receive. 

Plead  with  them  earnestly, 

Plead  with  them  gently  : 
He  will  forgive  if  they  only  believe. 

Down  in  the  human  heart. 

Crushed  by  the  tempter, 
Feelings  lie  buried  that  grace  can  restore: 

Touched  by  a  loving  heart. 

Wakened  by  kindness. 
Chords  that  were  broken  will  vibrate  once  more. 

Rescue  the  perishing. 

Duty  demands  it ; 
Strength  for  thy  labor  the  Lord  vv'ill  provide : 

Back  to  the  narrow  way 

Patiently  win  them  ; 
Tell  the  poor  wand'rer  a  Savior  has  died. 


FANNY      J.       CROSBY 


:^,^5^^ 


VA^  j-^/Vt'  o/'  the  fact  that  Watts  was  almost  a 
wholesale  hymn-f?iaker,  and  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  he  wrote  some  of  the  worst  doggerel  that 
children  have  ever  been  forced  to  learn,  it  yet 
remains  that  some  of  the  noblest  Christian 
hymns  are  of  his  authorship.  Sofne  of  these 
were  composed  in  the  course  of  setting  the 
Psalms  into  verse,  a  task  which  he  accom- 
plished in  an  incredibly  short  time.  Probably 
this  metrical  arrange7nent  of  the  Ninetieth 
Psahn  was  his  best  piece  of  work  in  all  that 
great  undertaking.  Certainly  it  has  become  a 
favorite  hy?nn  with  7nany  fafuous  men,  and  it 
is  sung  in  the  churches  more  frequeyitly  than 
any  of  the  inany  other  hymns  of  the  author, 
save  perhaps  his  "  When  I  Survey  the  Won- 
drous Cross." 


['14] 


OUR  GOD,  OUR  HELP  IN  AGES   PAST 


o 


UR  God,  our  help  in  ages  past, 
Our  hope  for  years  to  come  ; 
Our  shelter  from  the  stormy  blast, 
And  our  eternal  home  ! 

Under  the  shadow  of  thy  throne 
Thy  saints  have  dwelt  secure ; 

Sufficient  is  thine  arm  alone, 
And  our  defense  is  sure. 

Before  the  hills  in  order  stood. 
Or  earth  received  her  frame. 

From  everlasting  thou  art  God, 
To  endless  years  the  same. 

A  thousand  ages  in  thy  sight 
Are  like  an  evening  gone  ; 

Short  as  a  watch  that  ends  the  night 
Before  the  rising  sun. 

Time,  like  an  ever  rolling  stream. 

Bears  all  its  sons  away ; 
They  fly,  forgotten,  as  a  dream 

Dies  at  the  opening  day. 

Our  God,  our  help  in  ages  past. 
Our  hope  for  years  to  come ; 

Be  thou  our  guard  while  troubles  last. 
And  our  eternal  home. 


ISAAC      WATTS 


yOHN  KEBLE  (Fairford,  Gloucestershire, 
Etiglandy  April  2^,  ^79^  —  Bournemouth, 
March  2g,  1 8  66)  the  author  of  the  '^Christian 
Tear,''  was  an  English  clergyman  of  decidedly 
high-church  tendencies.  He  was  educated  at 
Oxford  and  was  afterwards  appointed  pro- 
fessor of  poetry  there.  He  took  a  large  part, 
with  his  pen,  in  the  Oxford  movement,  but 
his  claim  to  fa??ie  to-day  rests  entirely  upon 
the  volume  of  religious  poems,  especially  upon 
the  first  two,  the  '■^Morning  Hymn  "  and  the 
^^ Evening  Hymn.''  The  six  verses  given  here, 
while  constituting  only  a  part  of  the  whole 
poe?n,  include  all  those  that  have  come  into 
most  general  use  in  public  worship.  This 
hy7nn  and  ^^  Abide  with  Me"  are  without 
question  the  two  ?iiost  popular  eveni?ig  hymns  in 
the  English  language. 


SUN     OF     MY     SOUL 


i^UN  of  my  soul,  thou  Savior  dear, 
It  is  not  night  if  thou  be  near; 
O,  may  no  earth-born  cloud  arise 
To  hide  thee  from  thy  servant's  eyes. 

When  soft  the  dews  of  kindly  sleep 
My  wearied  eyelids  gently  steep, 
Be  my  last  thought,  how  sweet  to  rest 
Forever  on  my  Savior's  breast. 

Abide  with  me  from  morn  till  eve. 
For  without  thee  I  cannot  live ; 
Abide  with  me  when  night  is  nigh. 
For  without  thee  I  dare  not  die. 

If  some  poor  wandering  child  of  thine 
Have  spurned  to-day  the  voice  divine  — 
Now,  Lord,  the  gracious  work  begin  ; 
Let  him  no  more  lie  down  in  sin. 

Watch  by  the  sick ;   enrich  the  poor 
With  blessings  from  thy  boundless  store ; 
Be  every  mourner's  sleep  to-night 
Like  infants'  slumbers,  pure  and  light. 

Come  near  and  bless  us  when  we  wake. 
Ere  through  the  world  our  way  we  take ; 
Abide  with  me  till,  in  thy  love. 
We  lose  ourselves  in  heaven  above. 


JOHN       KEBLE 


George  MATHESON  (Glasgow, 
Scotland,  March  2^,  1 8 42)  Scottish  theologian 
and  poet,  the  author  of  a  number  of  polemical 
works  on  theology,  and  of  a  volume  of  sacred 
songs,  lost  his  sight  when  but  a  lad.  Tet  he 
persevered  with  his  studies  and  graduated  with 
honors  at  Glasgow.  This  song  was  first  pub- 
lished in  1 88 J.  The  author  says  it  seemed  to 
come  to  hi?n  almost  against  his  will,  for  it  was 
written  at  a  time  of  great  me?ital  distress. 
The  writer  of  ''Black  Diamond  Men  "  tJiakes 
a  beautiful  use  of  this  hymn. 


[118] 


THE    BLIND    MAN'S    SONG 


o 


LOVE,  thou  wilt  not  let  me  go, 
I  rest  my  weary  soul  in  thee ; 
I  give  thee  back  the  life  I  owe, 
That  in  thine  ocean  depths  its  flow 
May  richer,  fuller  be. 

O  Light,  that  followest  all  my  way, 

I  yield  my  flickering  torch  to  thee  ; 
My  heart  restores  its  borrowed  ray. 
That  in  thy  sunshine's  blaze  its  day 
May  brighter,  fairer  be. 

0  Joy,  that  seekest  me  through  pain, 
I  cannot  close  my  heart  to  thee ; 

1  trace  the  sunshine  through  the  rain. 
And  feel  the  promise  is  not  vain 

That  morn  shall  tearless  be. 

0  Cross,  that  liftest  up  my  head, 
I  dare  not  ask  to  fly  from  thee ; 

1  lay  in  dust  life's  glory  dead. 

And  from  the  ground  there  blossoms  red 
Life  that  shall  endless  be. 


GEORGE     MATHESON 
["9] 


■'^''  "  ,,'-^  '"^    *■,''•   ^ -v  !T!  .vK  'v'l  *'' *)    ■'■'• 


-^'•'->7   i^:— ^- 


7 


OHAT  HENRT  NEWMAN  (London, 
Feb.  21  y  1 80 1  —  Edgbaston,  Aug.  11,  1 8 go), 
well  known  as  a  writer  and  an  ecclesiastic, 
has  yet  found  far  greater  fame  as  the  author 
of  this  single  hytnn.  He  was  educated  at 
Ealing  and  at  Trinity,  Oxford,  and  in  1824. 
was  ordained  to  the  ministry  in  the  English 
church.  Twenty-one  years  later,  after  a  long 
period  of  stress  of  mind  and  conflict  with 
doubt,  he  went  into  the  Church  of  Rome.  A 
particularly  trying  time  of  religious  perplexity 
led  to  the  writing  of  this  hytnn,  which  was 
first  published  as  a  poem,  under  the  title 
"  Light  in  Darkness''  Born  of  such  ati  ex- 
perience, it  has  become  the  hymn  7iot  only  of 
those  who  wander  in  religious  unrest,  but  of  all 
who  are  in  darkness  of  any  kind.  It  is  com- 
monly sung  to  the  tune,  **  Lux  Benigna,''  by 
J.  B.  Dykes. 

[120] 


■'      LEAD,     KINDLY     LIGHT 


L 


'EAD,  kindly  light !  amid  th'  encircling  gloom, 

Lead  thou  me  on  ; 
The  night  is  dark,  and  I  am  far  from  home, 

Lead  thou  me  on ; 
Keep  thou  my  feet ;   I  do  not  ask  to  see 
The  distant  scene ;    one  step  enough  for  me. 

I  was  not  ever  thus,  nor  prayed  that  thou 

Shouldst  lead  me  on  ; 
I  loved  to  choose  and  see  my  path  ;  but  now 

Lead  thou  me  on  ; 
I  loved  the  garish  day,  and,  spite  of  fears, 
Pride  ruled  my  will.      Remember  not  past  years. 

So  long  thy  power  has  blessed  me,  sure  it  still 

Will  lead  me  on 
O'er  moor  and  fen,  o'er  crag  and  torrent,  till 

The  night  is  gone  ; 
And  with  the  morn  those  angel  faces  smile 
Which  I  have  loved  long  since,  and  lost  awhile  ! 


•'■^      CARDINAL    JOHN    HENRY    NEWMAN 


[121] 


Adelaide  anne   Procter 

(Lo7idon,  Oct.  JO,  182^  —  Feb.  2y  1864), 
the  daughter  of  "  Barry  Cornwall,''  the  poet 
and  dramatist,  is  the  author  of  "  The  Lost 
Chord,'  and  also  of  several  beautiful  and 
sympathetic  hy?nns.  She  spent  7nuch  of  her 
life  in  philanthropic  service,  particularly  de- 
lighting in  writing  songs  and  poems  to  be  sold 
for  the  benefit  of  charitable  causes.  Toward 
the  end  of  her  life  she  beca?ne  a  Roman  Cath- 
olic, and  seemed  fairly  to  wear  herself  away  in 
religious  service.  This  hymn  may  be  counted 
as  one  of  the  new  hy??ms  of  the  church,  but  it 
is  rapidly  growing  in  favor. 


[122] 


GRATITUDE 


M 


,Y  God,  I  thank  thee,  who  hast  made 

The  earth  so  bright, 
So  full  of  splendor  and  of  joy. 

Beauty,  and  light ; 
So  many  glorious  things  are  here. 

Noble  and  right. 

I  thank  thee  more  that  all  our  joy 

Is  touched  with  pain, 
That  shadows  fall  on  brightest  hours. 

That  thorns  remain  ; 
So  that  earth's  bliss  may  be  our  guide. 

And  not  our  chain. 

I  thank  thee.  Lord,  that  thou  hast  kept 

The  best  in  store  ; 
We  have  enough,  yet  not  too  much 

To  long  for  more : 
A  yearning  for  a  deeper  peace 

Not  known  before. 

I  thank  thee.  Lord,  that  here  our  souls. 

Though  amply  blest. 
Can  never  find,  although  they  seek, 

A  perfect  rest, 
Nor  ever  shall  until  they  lean 

On  Jesus'  breast. 


ADELAIDE    ANNE     PROCTER 


Thomas  KENfBerkhampstead,  England, 
July,  idjy  —  Longleat,  March  ig,  lyil), 
the  fearless  bishop  of  Bath  in  the  days  of 
Charles  II,  was  the  earliest  of  the  great  Eng- 
lish hymn  writers.  His  "  Evening  Hymn  " 
and  his  ^^  Morning  Hymn  "  are  familiar  to  all 
Christian  congregations,  and  the  former  ranks 
as  one  of  the  four  greatest  hymfis,  according  to 
an  exhaustive  test  recently  conducted.  The 
*^ Evening  Hymn"  is,  however,  especially  inter- 
esting in  that  it  contai?is  the  verse  which  is 
sung  fnore  frequently  and  by  more  people  than 
any  other  single  selection;  this  is  the  last  verse, 
commonly  known  as  ^^  the  long  metre  do xo logy." 
It  is  used  in  churches  of  every  creed  except  the 
Unitarian,  and  in  every  tongue,  and  has  been 
appropriated  by  faiths  other  than  Christiaji. 

[124] 


GLORY    TO    THEE,    MY    GOD 


VJLORY  to  thee,  my  God,  this  night, 
For  all  the  blessings  of  the  light; 
Keep  me,  O,  keep  me.  King  of  kings  ! 
Beneath  thine  own  almighty  wings. 

Forgive  me.  Lord,  for  thy  dear  Son, 
The  ill  which  I  this  day  have  done ; 
That  with  the  world,  myself,  and  thee, 
I,  ere  1  sleep,  at  peace  may  be. 

Teach  me  to  live,  that  I  may  dread 
The  grave  as  little  as  my  bed : 
Teach  me  to  die,  that  so  I  may 
Rise  glorious  at  the  judgment  day. 

O,  let  my  soul  on  thee  repose. 
And  may  sweet  sleep  mine  eyelids  close  ! 
Sleep,  which  shall  me  more  vigorous  make. 
To  serve  my  God  when  I  awake. 

Praise  God,  from  whom  all  blessings  flow  ! 
Praise  him  all  creatures  here  below  ! 
Praise  him  above,  ye  heavenly  host ! 
Praise  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost ! 


BISHOP      THOMAS      KEN 


JN  even  the  smallest  collection  of  standard 
hymns  there  would  certainly  be  several  by  Reg- 
inald Heber  ( England y  f/Sj  —  India ^  1826), 
the  author  of  "  Greenland' s  Icy  Mountains'' 
By  many  authorities  the  hymn  given  here  is 
thought  to  be  his  finest  piece  of  work,  and  in  the 
services  of  the  churches  of  all  denominations  it 
takes  high  rank.  In  fact,  in  a  large  nu?nber 
of  them  the  first  verse  is  invariably  used  as 
the  openi?ig  note  of  praise  Sunday  mornings. 
It  is  always  sung  to  the  tune  ^^Nicea,'  written 
expressly  for  it  by  Dr.  f.  B.  Dykes. 


[1.6] 


H  O  LY,     H  O  LY,     HOLY 


rloLY,  holy,  holy  !   Lord  God  Almighty  ! 

Early  in  the  morning  our  song  shall  rise  to  thee ; 
Holy,  holy,  holy  !  merciful  and  mighty  ! 

God  in  three  persons,  blessed  Trinity. 

Holy,  holy,  holy  !  all  the  saints  adore  thee, 

Casting  down  their  golden  crowns  around  the 
glassy  sea ; 

Cherubim  and  seraphim  falling  down  before  thee, 
Which  wert,  and  art,  and  evermore  shalt  be. 

Holy,  holy,  holy  !  though  the  darkness  hide  thee, 
Though  the  eye  of  sinful  man  thy  glory  may 
not  see ; 

Only  thou  art  holy  ;  there  is  none  beside  thee, 
Perfect  in  power,  in  love,  and  purity. 

Holy,  holy,  holy  !  Lord  God  Almighty  ! 

All  thy  works  shall  praise  thy  name,  in  earth, 
and  sky,  and  sea ; 
Holy,  holy,  holy  !  merciful  and  mighty; 

God  in  three  persons,  blessed  Trinity  ! 


BISHOP      HEBER 

[  127] 


:■-)  t. 


Charlotte  elliott,  author  of 

"  Just  as  I  Am^'  was  the  writer  of  about  one 
hundred  and  ffty  other  hy?}ins.  Her  Ufe  as 
an  invalid  seems  to  have  given  a  peculiar 
pathos  to  almost  all  her  work,  but  it  is  certain 
that,  with  the  possible  exception  of  Frances 
Ridley  Haver  gal,  no  other  wo?nan  has  so  suc- 
cessfully sung  her  way  into  the  affections  of  the 
people.  Strafige  to  say,  popular  as  this  hymn 
is  i?i  the  English,  it  is  even  more  so  in  the 
French  and  Ger??ian  translations.  It  is  known 
to-day  in  almost  every  ?nodern  tongue,  and  sung 
in  every  clime,  being  an  especial  favorite  with 
mission  converts  and  with  all  who  are  subject 
to  persecution  for  their  I'eligious  faith. 


[128] 


THY     WILL     BE     DONE 

iVlY  God,  my  Father,  while  I  stray 
Far  from  my  home,  on  life's  rough  way, 

0  teach  me  from  my  heart  to  say, 

"  Thy  will  be  done,  thy  will  be  done ! " 

What  though  in  lonely  grief  I  sigh 
For  friends  beloved  no  longer  nigh  ; 
Submissive  still  would  I  reply, 
"  Thy  will  be  done,  thy  will  be  done  ! " 

If  thou  shouldst  call  me  to  resign 
What  most  I  prize  —  it  ne'er  was  mine  ; 

1  only  yield  thee  what  was  thine  : 

"  Thy  will  be  done,  thy  will  be  done  1 " 

If  but  my  fainting  heart  be  blest 
With  thy  sweet  Spirit  for  its  guest. 
My  God,  to  thee  I  leave  the  rest; 
"  Thy  will  be  done,  thy  will  be  done  !  " 

Renew  my  will  from  day  to  day  ; 
Blend  it  with  thine,  and  take  away 
Whate'er  now  makes  it  hard  to  say, 
"  Thy  will  be  done,  thy  will  be  done  !  " 

Then  when  on  earth  I  breathe  no  more, 
The  prayer  oft  mixed  with  tears  before 
I  '11  sing  upon  a  happier  shore  : 
"  Thy  will  be  done,  thy  will  be  done  ! " 


CHARLOTTE      ELLIOTT 


[129] 


Thomas  Hastings,  Mus.  d.  (Wash- 

ifigton,  Co?i?i.,  Oct.  /J',  lyS^  —  New  Tork, 
May  75,  l8j2)y  is  better  known  as  a  com- 
poser of  a  nu7nber  of  good  tunes  than  as  a 
writer  of  hymns.  His  fame  will  rest  on  the 
tune  *^  Top  lady,''  to  which  we  still  sing  *^  Rock 
of  Ages."  This  was  written  in  the  same  year 
as  the  hymn  given  here,  in  1 8 JO.  Dr.  Hast- 
ings prepared  and  published  the  first  of  the 
present  style  of  hyinn  book,  with  the  words  and 
music  printed  on  the  same  page,  in  186^. 
This  hymn  is  usually  sung  to  the  tune  composed 
by  Lowell  Mason  and  known  as  **  Wesley'' 


[no] 


MISSIONARY     SUCCESS 


JrU.  AIL  to  the  brightness  of  Zion's  glad  morning! 

Joy  to  the  lands  that  in  darkness  have  lain  ! 
Hushed  be  the  accents  of  sorrow  and  mourning; 

Zion  in  triumph  begins  her  mild  reign. 

Hail  to  the  brightness  of  Zion's  glad  morning, 
Long  by  the  prophets  of  Israel  foretold  ! 

Hail  to  the  millions  from  bondage  returning, 
Gentiles  and  Jews  the  blest  vision  behold ! 

Lo  !  in  the  desert  rich  flowers  are  springing. 
Streams  ever  copious  are  gliding  along  ; 

Loud  from  the  mountain-tops  echoes  are  ringing, 
Wastes  rise  in  verdure  and  mingle  in  song. 

See,  from  all  lands  —  from  the  isles  of  the  ocean  — 
Praise  to  Jehovah  ascending  on  high ; 

Fallen  are  the  engines  of  war  and  commotion, 
Shouts  of  salvation  are  rending  the  sky. 


THOMAS      HASTINGS 


Sir  JOHN  BOWRING,  LL.D.  (Ex- 
eter, England,  Oct.  //,  I7g2  —  Nov.  2 J, 
l8j2)y  a  distinguished  linguist  and  political 
writer,  was  the  author  of  a  number  of  excellent 
hymns,  including  the  well  known  ^^  In  the  Cross 
of  Christ  I  Glory."  He  was  a  f?ie?nber  of 
Parlia?}ient  and  was  knighted  by  ^ueen  Vic- 
toria in  18^4.  He  was  known  as  a  Uni- 
tarian in  faith,  but  this  hymn,  as  well  as  many 
others  which  he  wrote,  has  been  adopted  by  all 
the  churches.  ^*God  is  Love"  is  one  of  the 
most  popular  songs  to-day  in  Eiigland  and  her 
colonies,  especially  in  the  Sunday-schools, 


[132] 


GOD     IS     LOVE 


'OD  is  love;  his  mercy  brightens 
All  the  path  in  which  we  rove ; 
Bliss  he  wakes  and  woe  he  lightens ; 
God  is  wisdom,  God  is  love. 

Chance  and  change  are  busy  ever; 

Man  decays,  and  ages  move ; 
But  his  mercy  waneth  never ; 

God  is  wisdom,  God  is  love. 

E'en  the  hour  that  darkest  seemeth 
Will  his  changeless  goodness  prove ; 

From  the  gloom  his  brightness  streameth, 
God  is  wisdom,  God  is  love. 

He  with  earthly  cares  entwineth 
Hope  and  comfort  from  above; 

Everywhere  his  glory  shineth  ; 
God  is  wisdom,  God  is  love. 


SIR      JOHN      BOWRING 


t'33] 


^»s^  t  ^^  ^»  ^i^  r^" 


William  COWPER  (Berk/mmpstead, 
Hertfordshire  J  England ^  Nov.  26  y  I J  J I  — 
East  Dereham,  Norfolk,  April  2^,  1800) 
was  subject  to  prolonged  periods  of  7ne  lane  holy 
which  at  times  bordered  on  insanity.  It  is 
said  that  he  was  possessed  of  the  delusion  that 
he  would  die  by  drowning  in  the  River  Ouse,  and 
that  during  one  of  his  seasons  of  clouded  intel" 
lect  and  of  great  depression  of  spirit  he  ordered 
a  cab  and  directed  that  he  be  taken  to  the  river, 
intending  to  forestall  fate  by  suicide.  But  a 
dense  fog  rising,  the  cab?nan  lost  his  way  and 
at  last  brought  the  poet  back  safely  to  his 
home.  That  evening  Cowper  wrote  this  hymn. 
Born  of  his  bitter  experience,  it  has  become 
popular,  being  found  in  all  standard  collections 
and  sung  wherever  the  old  hymns  are  loved. 


PROVIDENCE 


'OD  moves  in  a  mysterious  way 
His  wonders  to  perform  ; 
He  plants  his  footsteps  in  the  sea, 
And  rides  upon  the  storm. 

Deep  in  unfathomable  mines 

Of  never  failing  skill, 
He  treasures  up  his  bright  designs 

And  works  his  sovereign  will. 

Ye  fearful  saints,  fresh  courage  take, 
The  clouds  ye  so  much  dread 

Are  big  with  mercy,  and  will  break 
In  blessings  on  your  head. 

Judge  not  the  Lord  by  feeble  sense. 
But  trust  him  for  his  grace ; 

Behind  a  frowning  providence 
He  hides  a  smiling  face. 

His  purposes  will  ripen  fast. 

Unfolding  every  hour; 
The  bud  may  have  a  bitter  taste, 

But  sweet  will  be  the  flower. 

Blind  unbelief  is  sure  to  err, 
And  scan  his  work  in  vain ; 

God  is  his  own  interpreter. 
And  he  will  make  it  plain. 


WILLIAM       cow  PER 


['35] 


J^ 


OHN  KEBLE,  the  author  of  the  volume 
of  poems  kfiown  as  *'  The  Christian  Tear," 
opens  that  book  with  a  Morning  and  an  Eveti- 
ing  Hymn.  Fro?n  the  latter  the  familiar  ^^  Sun 
of  My  Soul"  is  taken;  the  for7ner,  which  in 
the  book  has  sixteen  stanzas,  is  given  below  as 
it  is  usually  printed  for  church  worship.  To 
get  the  full  beauty  of  the  thought,  however,  the 
whole  poem  should  be  read.  The  author  set  the 
words  in  Lam.  j:  22,  26,  ^^  His  compassions 
fail  7iot ;  they  are  new  every  ?}iorning,"  at  the 
head  of  this  hy?nn.  To-day  it  is  often  used  for 
opening  church  worship. 


[,36] 


A     MORNING     HYMN 


-L^  EW  every  morning  is  the  love 
Our  wakening  and  uprising  prove ; 
Through  sleep  and  darkness  safely  brought. 
Restored  to  life,  and  power,  and  thought. 

New  mercies,  each  returning  day, 

Hover  around  us  while  we  pray  ; 

New  perils  past,  new  sins  forgiven, 

New  thoughts  of  God,  new  hopes  of  heaven. 

If^  on  our  daily  course,  our  mind 
Be  set  to  hallow  all  we  find. 
New  treasures  still,  of  countless  price, 
God  will  provide  for  sacrifice. 

The  trivial  round,  the  common  task, 
Will  furnish  all  we  ought  to  ask; 
Room  to  deny  ourselves,  a  road 
To  bring  us  daily  nearer  God. 

Only,  O  Lord,  in  thy  dear  love, 
Fit  us  for  perfect  rest  above. 
And  help  us,  this  and  every  day, 
To  live  more  nearly  as  we  pray. 


JOHN       KEBLE 

['37] 


1  HE  Rev.  Sa?nuel  Francis  Smith  was  born 
at  BostoUy  Mass.y  Oct.  21,  l8oS,  a?id  died  in 
l8g§.  He  was  a  classmate  at  Harvard  of 
Oliver  Wendell  Holmes.  Afte?'wards  gradu- 
ating from  Andover  he  entered  the  Baptist 
ministry  and  served  therein  an  honorable  career, 
both  as  pastor,  professor,  and  editor.  He  is  the 
author  of  several  popular  hyffins ;  but  his  claim 
to  fame  will  rest  on  what  is  commonly  recog- 
nized now  as  the  American  national  hy7mi. 
It  was  written  in  j8j2,  during  the  author  s 
student  life  at  Andover,  and  was  first  used  in 
public  at  a  Sunday-school  gathering  on  fuly 
^  at  the  Park  Street  Church,  Boston.  Com- 
paring this  hym?i  with  the  British  national 
anthem,  we  must  agree  that  Dr.  Smith  succeeded 
in  his  attempt  to  give  the  old  tune  ^^  the  ritig  of 
America?!  republican  patriotism." 


[n8] 


NATIONAL     HYMN 


M 


Y  country!  't  is  of  thee. 
Sweet  land  of  liberty, 

Of  thee  I  singi 
Land  where  my   fathers  died ' 
Land  of  the   pilgrim's  pride! 
From  every   mountain  side 

Let  freedom  ring  ! 

My  native  country,  thee. 
Land  of  the  noble  free. 

Thy   name  I   love; 
I  love  thy  rocks  and  rills, 
Thy  woods  and  templed  hills  j 
My  heart  with  rapture  thrills, 

Like  that  above. 

Let  music  swell  the  breeze. 
And   ring  from  all  the  trees 

Sweet  freedom's  song : 
Let  mortal  tongues  awake; 
Let  all  that  breathe  partake ; 
Let  rocks  their  silence  break  — 

The  sound  prolong. 

Our  fathers'   God,  to  thee. 
Author  of  liberty, 

To  thee  we  sing ; 
Long  may  our  land  be  bright 
With  freedom's  holy  light ; 
Protect  us  by  thy   might, 

Great  God,  our  King. 


SAMUEL     FRANCIS     SMITH 
[  139] 


^^^Sb' 


iVO  one  knows  who  wrote  this  popular  church 
hymn.  In  the  greater  number  of  books  it  is 
credited  to  Charles  Wesley.  That  is  because 
it  first  appeared  in  company  with  some  of  his 
hymns;  but  neither  Wesley  nor  his  contetnpo- 
raries  claimed  it  as  his.  There  are  some 
reasons  for  thinking  that  it  was  the  work  of 
the  Rev.  Martin  Maden  (ijzd-ijgo),  an 
English  Methodist  clergyjnan  well  known  both 
as  a  vivid  orator  and  an  enthusiastic  f?msician. 
He  practised  law  for  several  years  before  being 
ordained.  Later  he  was  chaplaifi  of  the  Lock 
Hospital.  The  hymn,  with  its  tune  "  Italian 
Hymn,'  has  won  for  itself  no  uncertain  place 
in  the  worship  of  American  churches,  although 
its  use  is  by  no  means  so  general  in  other  lands. 


[140] 


COME,  THOU  ALMIGHTY  KING 


c 


lOME,  thou  almighty   King, 
Help  us  thy   name  to  sing. 

Help  us  to  praise ; 
Father,  all  glorious. 
O'er  all  victorious. 
Come,  and   reign  over  us, 

Ancient  of  Days! 

Come,  thou   incarnate  Word, 
Gird  on  thy   mighty  sword  ; 

Our  prayer  attend  ; 
Come,  and   thy   people  bless. 
And  give  thy   word   success ; 
Spirit  of  holiness  ! 

On   us   descend. 


Come,  holy   Comforter! 
Thy   sacred   witness   bear, 

In  this  glad   hour; 
Thou,  who  almighty  art. 
Now  rule  in  every   heart. 
And   ne'er   from   us  depart, 

Spirit  of  power ! 

To  the  great   One  in  Three, 
The  highest   praises  be. 

Hence,  evermore  ! 
His   sovereign   majesty 
May   we   in   glory   see. 
And  to  eternity 

Love  and  adore. 


ANONYMOUS 


['4T] 


7.^^M/J 


y< 


OHN  MASON  NEALE,  D.  D.  (Lon- 

dofiy  Jan.  24,  18 18  —  East  Grinstead^  Aug. 
6y  1866 Jy  had  a  troubled  career  as  a  min- 
ister of  the  Church  of  England;  his  learn- 
ing and  piety  gave  him  a  wide  celebrity y  but 
his  ritualisfn  led  to  his  being  inhibited  by  his 
bishop.  He  is  now  remeinbered  for  his  sympa- 
thetic and  spirited  translations  of  the  hyf?ins 
and  songs  of  the  early  Greek  and  Latin  ??ionks. 
This  hymn  first  appeared  in  his  "  Hymns  of 
the  Eastern  Churchy^  published  in  1862.  It 
is  a  translation  of  the  song  of  Stephen^  a  monk 
of  the  monastery  of  Mar  Saba,  situated  near 
the  Dead  Sea.  This  song  was  probably  first 
written  in  the  eighth  century.  To  fnany  per- 
sons it  is  the  most  beautiful^  as  it  certainly  is 
one  of  the  most  sympathetic,  of  all  Christian 
hymns. 


ART     THOU     WEARY 


A 


.RT  thou  weary,  art  thou  languid, 
Art  thou  sore  distressed  ? 
"  Come  to  me,"  saith   One,  "  and,  coming. 
Be  at  rest." 

Hath  he  marks  to  lead   me  to  him. 

If  he  be  my  guide?  — 
"  In  his  feet  and  hands  are  wound  prints. 

And  his  side." 

Is  there  diadem,  as  monarch. 

That  his  brow  adorns  !  — 
"  Yea,  a  crown,  in  very  surety ; 

But  of  thorns." 

If  I  find  him,  if  I   follow. 

What  his  guerdon  here  ?  — 
"  Many  a  sorrow,  many  a  labor. 

Many  a  tear." 

If  I  still  hold   closely  to  him. 

What  hath  he  at  last  ?  — 
"Sorrow   vanished,  labor  ended, 

Jordan  passed." 

If  I  ask  him  to  receive  me. 

Will  he  say   me  nay?  — 
"  Not  till  earth,  and  not  till  heaven 

Pass  away." 

Finding,  following,  keeping,  struggling. 

Is   he  sure  to  bless  ?  — 
"Saints,  apostles,  prophets,  martyrs. 

Answer,  Yes." 

JOHN      MASON     NEALE 


Edward  PERRONET(  London,!'/ 26- 
iyg2),  an  eccentric  preacher  associated  with 
the  Wesleys,  would  have  been  long  ago  for- 
gotten but  for  his  one  great  hy?mi  which  has 
been  given  a  place  in  the  group  of  the  four 
greatest  Christian  hytnns.  In  the  United  States 
it  is  usually  sung  to  the  tune  "  Coronation,'* 
while  in  other  lands  "  Miles  Lane  "  is  used. 
The  hymn  has  always  bee?i  a  favorite  with 
soldiers,  being  sung  frequently  on  the  march, 
and  in  some  instances  its  throbbing  strains 
have  put  new  life  into  dispirited  regimejits  and 
swung  them  back  into  line,  turjiing  defeat  into 
victory.  The  last  verse  of  the  hymn  is  said 
to  have  been  added  by  John  Rippon  in  ijSj. 


[  144] 


CORONATION 


A 


LL  hail  the  power  of  Jesus'  name! 
Let  angels   prostrate   fall; 
Bring   forth  the  royal   diadem, 
And  crown  him  Lord  of  all. 

Crown   him,  ye  morning  stars  of  light, 
Who  fixed   this   floating  ball ; 

Now  hail  the  strength   of  Israel's   might. 
And  crown   him   Lord   of  all. 

Crown   him,  ye  martyrs  of  our  God, 

Who  from   his  altar  call ; 
Extol  the  stem   of  Jesse's   rod, 

And  crown  him  Lord  of  all. 

Ye  chosen  seed   of  Israel's  race. 
Ye  ransomed   from   the  fall  ; 

Hail  him,  who   saves  you   bv   his  grace. 
And  crown  him   Lord   of  all. 

Sinners,  whose   love  can    ne'er   forget 
The  wormwood   and   the  gall. 

Go,  spread  your   trophies  at  his  feet. 
And   crown   him   Lord   of  all. 

Let  every   kindred,   every  tribe. 

On   this  terrestrial   ball. 
To  him  all  majesty   ascribe. 

And  crown  him  Lord  of  all. 

O  !  that  with  yonder   sacred   throng, 

We  at   his   feet   may   fall  ; 
We  '11  join  the   everlasting  song. 

And  crown   him   Lord  of  all. 


EDWARD       PERRONET 


[M5] 


^,<^c 


Rat  palmer  (Little  Compton,  R.  /., 
Nov.  12,  1808  —  Newark,  N.  J.,  March 
2g,  188 J )  was  well  known  as  a  Congrega- 
tional pastor  and  as  the  secretary  of  the  Con- 
gregational Union.  He  wrote  this  popular 
hymn  when  he  was  but  twenty-two  years  old. 
He  says  that  it  was  the  expression  of  his  own 
feelings  at  a  time  of  great  trouble.  One  year 
later  Lowell  Mason  set  it  to  the  tune  "  Olivet^' 
with  which  it  has  ever  since  been  wedded.  It 
has  been  translated  into  almost  every  dialect 
and  tongue.  Almost  all  church  people  know  tt 
by  heart,  arid  certainly  all  love  it  heartily. 


[,46] 


MY    FAITH    LOOKS    UP   TO 


M 


.Y  faith  looks  up  to  thee, 
Thou  Lamb  of  Calvary, 

Savior  divine  ! 
Now  hear  me  while  I  pray, 
Take  all   my   guilt  away; 
O   let   me   from  this  day 

Be  wholly  thine. 

May  thy   rich  grace  impart 
Strength  to  my  fainting  heart; 

My  zeal  inspire; 
As  thou  hast  died   for  me, 
O   may  my  love  to  thee 
Pure,  warm,  and  changeless  be, 

A  living  fire ! 

While  life's  dark  maze  I  tread. 
And  griefs  around   me  spread, 

Be  thou   my  guide  ; 
Bid  darkness  turn  to  day, 
Wipe  sorrow's  tears  away. 
Nor  let  me  ever  stray 

From  thee  aside. 

When  ends  life's  transient  dream, 
When  death's  cold,  sullen   stream 

Shall  o'er  me  roll, 
Blest  Savior  !    then,  in  love. 
Fear  and  distress  remove ; 
O  bear  me  safe  above, 

A  ransomed  soul. 


RAY     PALMER 


[147] 


1  HIS  hymn  has  been  ascribed  to  tnany  writ- 
ers and  seldom  to  its  true  author.  Tet  the 
fnatter  of  its  origin  would  easily  have  bee?! 
settled  by  reference  to  a  novel  written  several 
years  ago,  entitled  ^^  Dollars  and  Cents,''  where 
it  first  appeared  in  its  original  form.  The 
writer  of  this  story,  answering  afi  inquiry  re- 
garding the  hymn,  writes,  "  It  is  certainly 
mine  —  so  far  as  that  can  be  said  of  anything 
which  the  Lord  himself  gives  to  our  hearts  to 
say  or  do.  The  hymn  just  grew  up  in  a 
scene  in  a  story  I  was  writing,  because  I 
found  nothing  that  just  suited  tne.''  Miss 
Warner,  who  is  perhaps  better  known  as 
*^  Amy  Lothrop,''  is  the  author  of  a  number 
of  stories.  The  hyjnn  is  sung  to  the  beautiful 
setting  of  Mendelssohn' s  "  Consolation." 


[148] 


CONSOLATION 


w, 


E  would  see  Jesus ;   for  the  shadows  lengthen 
Across  this  little  landscape  of  our  life ; 
We  would   see  Jesus,  our  weak   faith  to  strengthen 
For  the  last  weariness,  the  final  strife. 

We  would  see  Jesus,  the  great  rock   foundation 
Whereon  our  feet  were  set  with  sovereign  grace: 

Nor  life  nor  death,  with  all  their  agitation. 
Can  thence  remove  us,  if  we  see  his   face. 

We  would  see  Jesus  :   other  lights  are  paling, 
Which  for  long  years  we  have   rejoiced  to  see; 

The  blessings  of  our  pilgrimage  are  failing: 

We  would  not  mourn  them,  for  we  go  to  thee. 

We  would   see  Jesus  :   yet  the   spirit  lingers 
Round   the  dear  objects   it   has   loved  so  long, 

And   earth   from  earth   can   scarce  unclasp   its   fingers; 
Our  love  to  thee  makes  not  this  love  less   strong. 

We  would  see  Jesus  :   sense  is  all  too  binding, 
And  heaven   appears  too  dim,  too   far  away; 

We  would   see  thee,  thyself  our  hearts   reminding 
What  thou   hast  suffered,  our  great  debt  to  pay. 

We  would   see  Jesus:   this  is  all  we're   needing; 

Strength,  joy,   and   willingness  come  with  the  sight; 
We  would   see  Jesus,  dying,   risen,   pleading; 

Then  welcome  day,  and  farewell  mortal  night. 


ANNA     B.      WARNER 


[  '49] 


Martin  LUTHER  (Eiskben,  Saxony, 
Nov.  lOf  1 48 J  —  Eisleben,  Feb.  18 y  1^46), 
was  not  only  a  great  preacher,  he  was  also  a 
poety  the  greatest  of  the  German  hymnists.  As 
a  poet  he  is  best  known  by  his  "  Ein  Feste 
Burgy'  which  is  commonly  called  Luther  s 
hymn.  Heine  calls  it  "  The  Marseillaise  of 
the  Reformation  ";  it  spread  like  wildfire  every- 
where among  the  Protestaiits,  being  sung  in  the 
cottage,  the  workshop,  and  the  congregation. 
Based  on  the  Forty-Sixth  Psaltn,  "  God  is  our 
refuge  and  strength,''  and  born  in  the  supreme 
hour  of  Luther  s  great  conflict ,  it  was  one  of 
the  most  potent  forces  of  the  Reformation. 
Something  of  the  versatility  of  Luther  is  seen 
in  the  fact  that  the  tune  to  which  this  hymn  is 
always  sung  was  also  his  cofnposttton.  The 
translation  was  made  by  Frederick  Henry 
Hedge,  of  Massachusetts,  in  the  last  century. 


[mo] 


EIN     FESTE     BURG 


A 


MIGHTY  fortress  is  our  God, 

A  bulwark  never  failing : 
Our  helper  he,  amid  the  flood 

Of  mortal  ills   prevailing. 
For  still  our  ancient  foe 
Doth  seek  to  work  his  woe ; 
His  craft  and   power  are  great, 
And  armed  with  cruel  hate. 

On  earth  is  not  his  equal. 

Did  we  in  our  own   strength  confide, 
Our  striving  would  be  losing; 

Were  not  the   right   man   on  our  side, 
The  man  of  God's  own  choosing. 

Dost  ask  who  that  may  be  ? 

Christ  Jesus,  it   is  he; 

Lord  Sabaoth  is   his  name. 

From  age  to  age  the  same. 
And  he  must  win  the   battle. 


And  though  this  world,  with  devils  filled, 

Should  threaten  to   undo  us; 
We  will  not   fear,   for  God   hath  willed 

His  truth  to  triumph  through  us. 
Let  goods  and   kindred  go. 
This   mortal   life  also : 
The  body  they   may   kill ; 
God's  truth  abideth  still. 

His  kingdom   is   forever. 


MARTIN     LUTHER 


[^51] 


V.  ,»      ■  .A  -  -^ 


vs"  r\.' 


HeNRT  FRANCIS  LTTE  (Kelso,  Scot- 
landy  yu?ie  /,  Ijgj  —  NicCy  France ,  Nov.  20, 
184J )y  poet  and  clergyman^  early  gave  pi'omise 
of  a  brilliajit  career ;  but  illness ,  intrigue ,  and 
misfortune  seemed  to  beset  Imn.  His  great 
hymns y  however ,  grew  out  of  these  experiences. 
He  says  that,  ^'■scarce  able  to  crawly'  he  went 
to  his  last  conwiunion  at  Brixham,  and  after 
the  service,  as  the  darkness  gathered,  he  wrote 
this  farewell  hymn.  To-day  this  hymn  is 
found  in  almost  all  hymn  books,  and  fro77i  the 
churches,  the  homes,  from  the  forts  and  the  me?i 
of  war  of  both  great  English-speaking  nations, 
its  melody  floats  out  on  the  Sabbath  evening  air. 


[-5-] 


ABIDE    WITH    ME 


BIDE  with  me:   fast  falls  the  eventide; 
The  darkness  deepens  ;   Lord,  with  me  abide ! 
When  other  helpers  fail,  and  comforts  flee, 
Help  of  the  helpless,  O,  abide  with  me  ! 

Not  a  brief  glance  I  beg,  a  passing  word. 
But  as  thou  dwell'st  with  thy  disciples.  Lord, 
Familiar,  condescending,  patient,  free, 
Come,  not  to  sojourn,  but  abide  with  me. 

I  need  thy  presence  every  passing  hour: 
What  but  thy  grace  can  foil  the  tempter's  power? 
Who  like  thyself  my  guide  and  stay  can  be  ? 
Thro'  cloud  and  sunshine,  O,  abide  with  me  ! 

Swift  to  its  close  ebbs  out  life's  little  day  ; 
Earth's  joys  grow  dim  ;  its  glories  pass  away: 
Change  and  decay  in  all  around  I  see; 

0  thou,  who  changest  not,  abide  with  me  ! 

Come  not  in  terrors,  as  the  King  of  kings; 
But  kind  and  good,  with  healing  in  thy  wings, 
Tears  for  all  woes,  a  heart  for  every  plea  ; 
Come,  Friend  of  sinners,  and  abide  with  me ! 

1  fear  no  foe,  with  thee  at  hand  to  bless. 
Ills  have  no  weight,  and  tears  no  bitterness; 
Where  is  Death's  sting  ?  where.  Grave,  thy  victory  ? 
I  triumph  still,  if  thou  abide  with  me. 

Hold  thou  thy  cross  before  my  closing  eyes; 
Shine  through  the  gloom  and  point  me  to  the  skies ; 
Heaven's  morning  breaks,  and  earth's  vain  shadows  flee; 
In  life,  in  death,  O  Lord,  abide  with  me  ! 

'A     

HENRY    FRANCIS    LYTE 


['S3] 


-^ 


jThE  Rev.  John  Marriott  (Cottesbach,  Eng- 
land, lySo  —  Broad  Clyst,  March  ji,  182^), 
studefii  at  Rugby  and  at  Christ  Churchy  Ox- 
fordy  private  tutor  in  the  family  of  the  Duke 
of  Buccleuchy  and  jninister  of  the  Episcopal 
church,  was  a  tnan  whose  quiet,  retired  life 
would  be  unknown  but  for  this  one  hymn. 
And  few,  indeed,  of  the  many  thousands  who 
sing  this  inspiring  song  in  the  churches  ever 
stop  to  ask  as  to  its  author.  Tet  it  ranks  as 
07ie  of  the  greatest  of  the  hytnns,  being  used  in 
the  opefiing  worship  of  churches  all  over  the 
world.  It  was  written  probably  about  181J, 
and  published  in  ^^Lyra  Britannic  a''  in  i86j  ; 
to-day  it  is  found  in  every  hymn  book  that 
makes  any  pretensions  to  cotnpletcness. 


[•54] 


"LET     THERE     BE     LIGHT" 


T, 


HOU,  whose  almighty  word 
Chaos  and  darkness  heard. 

And  took  their  flight, 
Hear  us,  we  humbly  pray ; 
And,  where  the  gospel's  day 
Sheds   not   its  glorious  ray, 

Let   there  be  light. 

Thou,  who  didst  come  to  bring 
On  thy   redeeming  wing 

Healing  and  sight. 
Health  to  the  sick  in   mind, 
Sight  to  the  inly  blind, 
O,  now  to  all  mankind 

Let  there  be  light. 

Spirit  of  truth  and  love, 
Life-giving,  holy  dove, 

Speed   forth  thy   flight; 
Move  o'er  the  waters'   face 
Bearing  the  lamp  of  grace. 
And  in   earth's  darkest  place 

Let  there  be  lisht. 


Holy  and  blessed  three. 
Glorious  trinity. 

Wisdom,  love,  might  ! 
Boundless  as  ocean's  tide 
Rolling  in  fullest  pride 
Through  the  world,  far  and  wide. 

Let  there  be  light. 

JOHN     MARRIOTT 


Charles  WESLET  (Epworth,  Eng- 
land, Dec.  i8y  iyo8  —  London,  March  2gy 
Ij88 )  was  the  younger  brother  of  "John 
Wesley y  with  whom  he  worked  and  preached. 
Charles  is  justly  known  as  the  poet  of  Method- 
isniy  for  he  is  the  author  of  over  six  thousand 
hyi7ins.  **  fesuSy  Lover  of  My  Souly"  was 
originally  entitled  "  Tempt ationy"  and  is  said  to 
have  been  written  i?}tmediately  after  a  narrow 
escape  from  death  by  shipwreck.  Henry  Ward 
Bee c her  said :  **  /  would  rather  have  written 
that  hy?nn  of  Wesley's  than  to  have  the  fa?ne 
of  all  the  kings  that  ever  sat  on  earth."  Its 
beautiful  thought  has  become  current  in  ?nany 
tongues.  It  was  one  of  the  favorite  songs  of 
the  Chinese  Christians  who  pe?'ished  in  the 
Boxer  uprisingy  many  dyifig  with  it  o?i  their 
lips. 

[156] 


JESUS,   LOVER    OF    MY    SOUL 


J  ESUS  !   lover  of  my  soul. 

Let  me  to  thy  bosom  fly. 
While  the  billows  near  me  roll. 

While  the  tempest  still  is  high ; 
Hide  me,    O  my   Savior !  hide. 

Till  the  storm  of  life  is  past ; 
Safe  into  the  haven  guide  ; 

O,  receive  my  soul  at  last ! 

Other  refuge  have  I  none  ; 

Hangs  my  helpless  soul  on  thee  ; 
Leave,   ah  !   leave  me  not  alone. 

Still  support  and  comfort  me. 
All  my  trust  on  thee  is  stayed  ; 

All  my  help  from  thee  I  bring ; 
Cover  my  defenseless  head 

With  the  shadow  of  thy  wing. 

Thou,   O  Christ  !   art  all  1   want ; 

More  than  all  in  thee  I  find  ; 
Raise  the  fallen,  cheer  the  faint. 

Heal  the  sick,   and  lead  the  blind. 
Just  and  holy  is  thy  name, 

I  am  all  unrighteousness  ; 
Vile  and  full  of  sin  I  am. 

Thou  art  full  of  truth  and  grace. 

Plenteous  grace  with  thee  is  found, 

Grace  to  pardon  all  my  sin  ; 
Let  the  healing  streams  abound. 

Make  and  keep  me  pure  within  ; 
Thou  of  life  the  fountain  art. 

Freely  let  me  take  of  thee  ; 
Spring  thou  up  within  my   heart. 

Rise  to  all  eternity. 

CHARLES       WESLEY 


1  HE  Rev.  Christopher  Wordsworth,  D.  D. 
(Lambethy  England^  Oct.jOy  iSoj — Lincoln, 
March  20,  l88^),  bishop  of  Lincoln,  was  one 
of  the  foremost  scholars  of  the  Anglican  Church 
in  his  day.  He  published  in  1862  a  volume 
of  poe?ns  entitled  "  The  Holy  Tear,''  a  collec- 
tion of  pieces  for  the  different  days  of  the 
church  year,  which  contained  one  hundred  and 
twenty-seven  hymns  of  his  own  co?nposition. 
This  was  the  first  hytnn  in  the  book.  It  is 
quite  gene*-ally  used  as  a  song  of  fjiorning 
worship  on  Sundays. 


['58] 


DAY      OF      REST 


o 


DAY  of  rest  and  gladness, 

O  day  of  joy   and  light, 
O  balm  of  care  and  sadness. 

Most  beautiful,   most  bright : 
On  thee,   the  high  and  lowly. 

Through  ages  joined  in  tune. 
Sing  "Holy,  holy,   holy," 

To  the  great  God  Triune. 

On  thee,  at  the  creation. 

The  light  first  had   its  birth  ; 
On  thee,   for  our  salvation, 

Christ  rose  from  depths  of  earth; 
On  thee,    our  Lord,   victorious, 

The  Spirit  sent  from   heaven ; 
And  thus  on  thee,   most  glorious 

A  triple  light  was  given. 

To-day   on  weary  nations 

The  heavenly  manna  falls ; 
To  holy  convocations 

The  silver  trumpet  calls. 
Where  gospel  light  is  glowing 

With  pure  and  radiant  beams. 
And  living  water  flowing 

With  soul-refreshing  streams. 

New  graces  ever  gaining 

From  this  our  day  of  rest. 
We  reach  the  rest  remaining 

To  spirits  of  the  blest ; 
To  Holy   Ghost  be  praises. 

To  Father,   and  to  Son  ; 
The  church  her  voice   upraises 

To  thee,  blest  Three  in  One. 

CHRISTOPHER      WORDSWORTH 


George  DUFFIELD  (Carlisle,  Pa., 
Sept.  12,  j8i8  —  Bloomjield,  N.  J.,  July  6, 
1888 )  came  of  a  faintly  of  American  hymn 
writers.  He  was  a  Presbyterian  pastor  in 
Brooklyn,  in  Philadelphia,  in  Michigan,  and 
in  Illinois.  He  is  buried  in  Detroit.  The 
hymn  for  which,  above  all  others,  he  is  fa?nous 
was  the  outcojue  of  the  Philadelphia  revival  of 
18^8.  It  was  written  as  the  conclusion  of  a 
sermon,  and  it  quickly  found  its  way  all  over  the 
English  world,  and  into  German,  Latin,  and 
other  translations.  The  author  says  that  he  first 
met  it,  after  its  composition,  as  the  favorite  song 
of  the  army  of  the  fames  in  1864. 


[160] 


THE    SOLDIERS    OF   THE   CROSS 


OTAND  up  !  stand  up  for  Jesus  ! 

Ye  soldiers  of  the  cross  ! 
Lift  high  his  royal  banner. 

It  must  not  suffer  loss  ; 
From  victory   unto  victory 

His  army  shall  he  lead. 
Till  every  foe  is  vanquished. 

And  Christ  is   Lord  indeed. 

Stand  up!   stand  up  for  Jesus  ! 

The  trumpet  call  obey; 
Forth  to  the  mighty  conflict. 

In  this  his  glorious  day  ; 
**ye  that  are  men,  now  serve  him,' 

Against  unnumbered  foes ; 
Let  courage  rise  with  danger. 

And  strength  to  strength  oppose. 

Stand  up  !  stand  up  for  Jesus  ! 

Stand  in   his  strength  alone; 
The  arm  of  flesh   will  fail  you  — 

Ye  dare  not  trust  your  own  ; 
Put  on  the  gospel  armor. 

And,   watching  unto  prayer. 
Where  duty  calls,   or  danger. 

Be  never  wanting  there. 

Stand  up !  stand  up  for  Jesus  ! 

The  strife  will  not  be  long  ; 
This  day,   the  noise  of  battle. 

The   next,   the   victor's   song  ; 
To  him  that  overcometh, 

A  crown  of  life  shall  be ; 
He  with  the  King  of  Glory 

Shall  reign  eternally  ! 

GEORGE      DUFFIELD 


IHE  Rev.  Carl  Rudolph  Hagenbach,  D.D. 
(Basely  Switzerland,  March  ^,  iSoi  —  yune 
/,  l8j4)i  wrote  this  hyj7in  in  his  own  tongue 
somewhere  about  1 8 40.  The  translator  is  un- 
known, but,  whoever  he  ?nay  be,  he  has  fairly 
well  carried  over  the  quaintness  and  the  sense 
of  peace  arid  quietness  in  the  original.  Dr. 
Hagetibach  cofnbined  in  himself  the  rare  and 
seldom  harmonious  qualities  of  a  successful 
professor  of  church  history  in  the  university 
of  his  native  town  and  a  poet  of  tender  feel- 
ing. While  this  hymn  is  not  used  generally 
in  congregational  worship,  it  is  well  known 
and  much  used  in  smaller  gatherings  and  for 
private  devotions. 


[162] 


RE  SIGNATION 


OiNCE  thy  father's  arm  sustains  thee. 

Peaceful  be  ; 
When  a  chastening  hand  restrains  thee. 

It  is  he  ! 
Know  his  love  in  full  completeness 
Fills  the  measure  of  thy  weakness  ; 
If  he  wound  thy  spirit  sore. 

Trust  him  more. 

Without  murmur,  uncomplaining. 

In  his  hand 
Lay  whatever  things  thou  canst  not 

Understand  : 
Though  the  world  thy  folly  spurneth. 
From  thy  faith  in  pity  turneth. 
Peace  thy  inmost  soul  shall  fill  — 

Lying  still. 

Fearest  sometimes  that  thy  father 

Hath  forgot  ? 
When  the  clouds  around  thee  gather. 

Doubt  him  not  ! 
Always  hath  the  daylight  broken  — 
Always  hath  he  comfort  spoken  — 
Better  hath  he  been  for  years 

Than  thy  fears. 

To  his  own  thy  Savior  giveth 

Daily  strength  ; 
To  each  troubled  soul  that  liveth 

Peace  at  length  : 
Weakest  lambs  have  largest  sharing 
Of  this  tender  shepherd's  caring; 
Ask  him  not,  then  —  when  or  how  — 

Only  bow. 


CARL     RUDOLPH     HAGENBACH     ,! 


[163] 


;^^ 


^L  THO  UGH  this  well  known  and  greatly 
loved  hy?nn  is  frequently  attributed  to  one 
"  Kirkhamy"  there  is  no  reliable  evidence  as  to 
its  authorship.  It  first  appeared  in  the  "  Selec- 
tion of  Hymns  fro?n  the  Best  Authors  y'  com- 
piled by  Dr.  Rippon  and  published  in  ijSj. 
Here  it  was  credited  to  "  i^."  This^  taken 
with  the  fact  that  George  Keith^  a  London 
publisher y  was  the  chorister  of  Dr.  Rippon  s 
church,  has  led  many  to  attribute  the  song  to 
him.  There  is  no  doubt,  however,  as  to  the 
place  occupied  by  this  hymn ;  it  is  a  classic, 
and  judged  by  the  spirit  with  which  it  is  sung 
it  is  just  as  popular  to-day  as  ever.  The  tune 
usually  used  with  it  is  "  Portuguese  Hymn.'* 


[164] 


A;  THE     FIRM     FOUNDATION 


H, 


OW  firm  a  foundation,  ye  saints  of  the  Lord  ! 
Is  laid  for  your  faith  in  his  excellent  word  ! 
What  more  can  he  say,  than  to  you  he  hath  said  — 
To  you,  who  for  refuge  to  Jesus  have  fled  ? 

*«  Fear  not,  I  am  with  thee,  O,  be  not  dismayed. 
For  I  am  thy  God,  I  will  still  give  thee  aid ; 
I  '11  strengthen  thee,  help  thee,  and  cause  thee  to  stand. 
Upheld  by  my  gracious,  omnipotent  hand. 

"  When  through  the  deep  waters  I  call  thee  to  go. 
The  rivers  of  sorrow  shall  not  overflow  ; 
For  I  will  be  with  thee  thy  trials  to  bless. 
And  sanctify  to  thee  thy  deepest  distress. 

*'  When  through  fiery  trials  thy  pathway  shall  lie. 
My  grace,  all  sufficient,  shall  be  thy  supply, 
The  flame  shall  not  hurt  thee  ;   I  only  design 
Thy  dross  to  consume,  and  thy  gold  to  refine. 

"  Ev'n  down  to  old  age  all  my  people  shall  prove 
My  sovereign,  eternal,  unchangeable  love  ; 
And  then,  when  gray  hairs  shall  their  temples  adorn. 
Like  lambs  they  shall  still  in  my  bosom  be  borne. 

*'  The  soul  that  on  Jesus  hath  leaned  for  repose, 
I  will  not,  I  will  not  desert  to  his  foes  : 
That  soul,  though  all  hell  should  endeavor  to  shake, 
I  '11  never  —  no,  never  —  no,  never  forsake  !  " 


ANONYMOUS 


'*»-MP  T i-^^ ^^ ^<,  <  V ^^'tr^'T^^'^^'^ 


Reginald  HEBER  ^Ma/pas,  Cheshire, 
April  21,  1 78 J  —  Trichinopoly,  hidia,  April 
2y  1826),  Anglican  bishop  of  Calcutta  and 
true  poet,  is  the  author  of  a  number  of  standard 
hymns.  He  was  a  ?nan  of  unusual  attain- 
ments. His  poem  *'  Palestine,''  which  ?nade 
him  prize  poet  of  Brazenose,  has  been  pro- 
nounced the  best  poet?i  Oxford  ever  produced. 
His  "  Missionary  Hymn  "  was  written  at  the 
request  of  his  father-in-law,  who  had  to  deliver 
a  missionary  sertnon  the  next  morning,  and  who 
had  failed  to  find  a  suitable  hymn  for  the 
service.  It  was  then  written  as  it  has  ever 
since  been  sung,  and  so  admirably  does  it  fit  the 
theme  that  no  inissionary  service  is  to-day  com- 
plete without  it.  The  tune  to  which  it  is 
always  sung  was  one  of  Lowell  Mason's  first 
compositions,  and  was  also  prepared  upon  re- 
quest, for  this  particular  hymn. 


''THE    MISSIONARY    HYMN" 


JL    ROM  Greenland's  icy  mountains. 

From  India's  coral  strand. 
Where  Afric's  sunny  fountains 

Roll  down  their  golden  sand  — 
From  many  an  ancient  river. 

From  many  a  palmy  plain. 
They  call  us  to  deliver 

Their  land  from  error's  chain. 

What  though  the  spicy  breezes 

Blov7  soft  o'er  Ceylon's  isle  ; 
Though  every  prospect  pleases. 

And  only  man  is  vile  ; 
In  vain  with  lavish  kindness 

The  gifts  of  God  are  strown  ; 
The  heathen,  in  his  blindness. 

Bows  down  to  wood  and  stone ! 

Shall  we,  whose  souls  are  lighted 

With  wisdom  from  on  high  — 
Shall  we,  to  men  benighted. 

The  lamp  of  life  deny  ? 
Salvation,  O,  Salvation  ! 

The  joyful  sound  proclaim. 
Till  earth's  remotest  nation 

Has  learned  Messiah's  name. 

Waft,  waft,  ye  winds,  his  story. 

And  you,  ye  waters,  roll. 
Till,  like  a  sea  of  glory. 

It  spreads  from  pole  to  pole ; 
Till  o'er  our  ransomed  nature 

The  Lamb  for  sinners  slain. 
Redeemer,  King,  Creator, 

In  bliss  returns  to  reign  ! 

BISHOP     REGINALD     HEBER 

[167] 


J  HIS,  the  tnost  poetic  of  all  the  Christmas 
hymnsy  was  written  by  an  American,  Ed?nund 
Hamilton  Sears  (Sandisjield,  Mass.,  April  6, 
jglO  —  Weston,  Mass.,  Jan.  14,  18 j6). 
Its  author  was  a  Unitarian  ininister,  a  gradu- 
ate of  Union  College,  Schenectady,  and  of  the 
divinity  school  of  Harvard.  Although  the 
hymn  is  comparatively  new,  being  published  in 
the  ''Christian  Register''  in  18^0,  it  has  be- 
come popular,  and  its  use  in  church  services  at 
Christmas  tif?ie  is  ahtiost  universal.  Along 
with  the  older  hymns  it  is  sung  as  a  carol  on 
the  streets  in  England  and  in  the  colonies  on 
the  last  few  flights  before  Christmas  day. 


[,68] 


THE     A  N  G  E  L'S     SONG 


I 


T  came  upon  the  midnight  clear. 

That  glorious  song  of  old. 
From  angels  bending  near  the  earth 

To  touch  their  harps  of  gold  ; 
•'  Peace  to  the  earth,  good  will  to  man. 

From  heaven's  all  gracious  king"  : 
The  earth  in  solemn  stillness  lay. 

To  hear  the  angels  sing. 

Still  through  the  cloven  skies  they  come. 

With  peaceful  wings  unfurled  ; 
And  still  celestial  music  floats 

O'er  all  the  weary  world; 
Above  its  sad  and  lowly  plains 

They  bend  on  heavenly  wing. 
And  ever  o'er  its  Babel  sounds. 

The  blessed  angels  sing. 

O  ye,  beneath  life's  crushing  load. 

Whose  forms  are  bending  low. 
Who  toil  along  the  climbing  way. 

With  painful  steps  and  slow  — 
Look  up  !   for  glad  and  golden  hours 

Come  swiftly  on  the  wing  ; 
O,  rest  beside  the  weary  road. 

And  hear  the  angels  sing  ! 

For  lo  I  the  days  are  hastening  on. 

By  prophet  bards  foretold. 
When  with  the  ever  circling  years 

Come  round  the  age  of  gold  ! 
When  peace  shall  over  all  the  earth 

Its  final  splendors  fling. 
And  the  whole  world  send  back  the  song 

Which  now  the  angels  sing  ! 

EDMUND     HAMILTON     SEARS 
[169] 


ii  ^^u- 


1  HIS  is  another  of  the  popular  hymns  of  that 
great  writer  of  religious  lyrics  ^  Ke gin  aid  Heber^ 
missionary  bishop  and  poet.  Many  have  re- 
marked the  paucity  of  Christian  hymns  of  action , 
suited  to  the  feelings  of  7nen.  This  hy7nny  there- 
fore y  with  its  direct  appeal  to  the  motor  tempera- 
ment, is  worthy  of  special  notice,  for  on  this 
account  it  has  always  been  popular  with  young 
men.  In  college  chapel  it  is  probably  used  more 
frequently  than  any  other  hy??jn,  while  in  all 
services  it  is  a  familiar  processional  and  a  great 
favorite  with  the  people. 


[170] 


THE     NOBLE     ARMY 


T. 


HE  Son  of  God  goes  forth  to  war, 

A  kingly  crown  to  gain. 
His  blood-red  banner  streams  afar  : 

Who  follows  in   his  train  ? 
Who  best  can  drink  his  cup  of  woe. 

Triumphant  over  pain  ; 
Who  patient  bears  his  cross  below. 

He  follows  in  his  train. 

The  martyr  first,   whose  eagle  eye 

Could  pierce  beyond  the  grave. 
Who  saw  his  Master  in  the  sky. 

And  called  on  him  to  save. 
Like  him,  with  pardon  on  his  tongue. 

In  midst  of  mortal  pain. 
He  prayed  for  them  that  did  the  wrong : 

Who  follows  in  his  train  ? 

A  glorious  band,   the  chosen  few 

On  whom   the  Spirit  came. 
Twelve  valiant  saints,   their  hope  they  knew 

And  mocked  the  cross  and  flame. 
They  met  the  tyrant's  brandished  steel. 

The  lion's  gory  mane  ; 
They  bowed  their  necks  the  death  to  feel ! 

Who  follows  in  their  train  ? 

A  noble  army,   men  and  boys. 

The  matron  and  the  maid. 
Around  the  Savior's  throne  rejoice. 

In  robes  of  light  arrayed. 
They  climbed  the  steep  ascent  of  heaven 

Through  peril,   toil,   and  pain. 
O   God,   to  us  may  grace  be  given 

To  follow  in  their  train. 


BISHOP      REGINAJD      HEBER 


['71] 


Phillips  brooks  (Boston,  Dec.  I  J, 

j8j^  —  y^^'  ^3y  ^^93 )y  '^^^  ^^^^  ^han  the 
bishop  of  the  Episcopal  diocese  of  Massachu- 
setts ;  he  was  the  bishop  of  the  whole  Ameri- 
can people.  They  have  not  yet  ceased  to  grieve 
for  him.  Perhaps  admiration  of  the  author' s 
personality  has  not  a  little  to  do  with  the  pop- 
ularity of  this  poem.  It  was  written  for  the 
use  of  Trinity  Sunday -school,  about  l880y  and 
sent  out  anonymously .  But  the  people  soon 
found  it  out.  Though  evidently  intended  as  a 
Christmas  hymn,  it  is  used  at  other  times,  and 
may  be  counted  as  one  of  the  few  new  hymns 
that  have  taken  their  place  along  with  the  old 
ones.  It  is  already  found  in  all  the  standard 
collections  of  church  hymns,  as  well  as  in  many 
of  those  of  less  permanent  character. 


[172] 


BETHLEHEM 


f 


o 


LITTLE  town  of  Bethlehem, 

How  still  we  see  thee  lie  ! 
Above  thy  deep  and  dreamless  sleep. 

The  silent  stars  go  by  ; 
Yet  in  thy  dark  streets  shineth 

The  everlasting  light; 
The  hopes  and  fears  of  all  the  years 

Are  met  in  thee  to-night. 

For  Christ  is  born  of  Mary, 

And  gathered  all  above 
While  mortals  sleep  the  angels  keep 

Their  watch  of  wondering  love. 
O  morning  stars,  together 

Proclaim  the  holy  birth  ! 
And  praises  sing  to  God  the  King, 

And  peace  to  men  on  earth. 

How  silently,  how  silently. 

The  wondrous  gift  is  given  ! 
So  God  imparts  to  human  hearts 

The  blessings  of  his  heaven. 
No  car  may  hear  his  coming. 

But  in  this  world  of  sin. 
Where  meek  souls  will  receive  him  still. 

The  dear  Christ  enters  in. 

O  holy  child  of  Bethlehem  ! 

Descend  to  us,  we  pray  ; 
Cast  out  our  sin,  and  enter  in. 

Be  born  in  us  to-day. 
We  hear  the  Christmas  angels 

The  great  glad  tidings  tell ; 
O,  come  to  us,  abide  with  us. 

Our  Lord  Immanuel  ! 


PHILLIPS     BROOKS 


.y^lLMOST  nothing  is  hiown  of  Bernard, 
save  that  he  was  a  monk  at  the  old  abbey  of 
Cluny,  France,  in  the  twefth  century,  and 
that  he  wrote  a  poem  entitled  "  De  Conteynptu 
Mundi,''  in  which  there  occur  the  stanzas 
froju  which  this  hymn  and  several  others  were 
translated.  Dr.  John  M.  Neale  (London, 
June  24,  18 18  —  East  Gr instead,  Aug.  6y 
1866),  as  the  translator,  deserves  much  of  the 
credit  for  the  great  popularity  of  this  hymn. 
The  vigor  and  freedom  of  his  version  may  be 
judged  by  comparisoji  with  the  first  lines  of 
the  Latin  original: 

"Urbs  Syon  aurea,  patria  lactea,  cive  decora, 
Omne  cor  obrius,  omnibus  obstruis,  et  cor  et  ora, 
Nescio,  nescio,  quae  jubilatio  lux  tibi  qualis, 
Guam  socialia  guadia,  gloria  quam  specialis." 

['74] 


jerusalp:m,  the    golden 


J  ERUSALEM,   the  golden. 

With  milk  and  honey  blest  ! 
Beneath  thy  contemplation 

Sink  heart  and  voice  oppressed  ; 
I  know  not,   O,    I  know  not 

What  joys  await  me  there  ; 
What  radiancy   of  glory. 

What  bliss  beyond  compare. 

They  stand,   those  halls  of  Zion, 

All  jubilant  with  song, 
And  bright  with  many  an  angel. 

And  all  the  martyr  throng  ; 
The  Prince  is  ever  in  them. 

The  daylight  is  serene  ; 
The  pastures  of  the   blessed 

Are  decked  in  glorious  sheen. 

There  is  the  throne  of  David  ; 

And  there  from  care  released. 
The  song  of  them  that  triumph. 

The  shout  of  them  that  feast ; 
And   they,   who  with  their  leader 

Have  conquered  in   the  fight. 
Forever  and  forever 

Are  clad  in  robes  of  white. 

O  sweet  and  blessed  country. 

Shall  I  e'er  see  thy  face  ? 
O  sweet  and  blessed  country. 

Shall  I  e'er  win  thy  grace  ? 
Exult,    O   dust  and  ashes. 

The  Lord  shall   be  thy  part  ; 
His  only,   his  forever 

Thou  shalt  be  and  thou  art. 


BERNARD  OF  CLUNY  AND  JOHN  M.  NEALE 


.M 


-:? 


^,^  ^i^: 


1  HE  authorship  of  this  celebrated  hyjun 
ivill  probably  re??iain  forever  unknown.  It  is 
the  f?iost  ancient  Christian  hymn  of  any  lengthy 
coming  to  us^  through  the  Latin,  fro?n  a  very 
early  Greek  original. 


[176] 


TE     DEUM     LAUDAMUS 


W 


E  praise  thee,  O   God  ;  we  acknowledge  thee  to  be  the 
Lord. 

All  the  earth  doth  worship  thee,  the  Father  everlasting. 

To  thee  all  angels  cry  aloud,  the  heavens,  and  all  the  powers 
therein. 

To  thee  cherubim  and  seraphim  continually  do  cry,  Holy,  holy, 
holy.  Lord  God  of  Sabaoth  ; 

Heaven  and  earth  are  full  of  the  majesty  of  thy  glory.  The 
glorious  company  of  the  apostles  praise  thee.  The  goodly  fellow- 
ship of  the  prophets  praise  thee. 

The  noble  army  of  martyrs  praise  thee.  The  holy  church 
throughout  all  the  world  doth  acknowledge  thee. 

The  Father  of  an  infinite  majesty  ;  thine  adorable,  true  and 
only  Son  ; 

Also  the  Holy  Ghost,  the  Comforter.  Thou  art  the  King  of 
glory,  O  Christ,  thou  art  the  everlasting  Son  of  the  Father. 

When  thou  tookest  upon  thee  to  deliver  man,  thou  didst  humble 
thyself  to  be  born  of  a  virgin. 

When  thou  hadst  overcome  the  sharpness  of  death,  thou  didst 
open  the  kingdom  of  heaven  to  all  believers. 

Thou  sittest  at  the  right  hand  of  God,  in  the  glory  of  the  Father. 
We  believe  that  thou  shalt  come  to  be  our  judge. 

We  therefore  pray  thee,  help  thy  servants,  whom  thou  hast  re- 
deemed with  thy  precious  blood. 

Make  them  to  be  numbered  with  thy  saints,  in  glory  everlasting. 

O  Lord,  save  thy  people,  and  bless  thine  heritage  ;  govern  them 
and  lift  them  up  forever. 

Day  by  day  we  magnify  thee  ;  and  we  worship  thy  name  ever, 
world  without  end. 

Vouchsafe,  O  Lord,  to  keep  us  this  day  without  sin  ;  O  Lord, 
have  mercy  upon  us,  have  mercy  upon  us  ; 

O  Lord,  let  thy  mercy  be  upon  us,  as  our  trust  is  in  thee. 

O  Lord,  in  thee  have  I  trusted  ;  let  me  never  be  confounded. 
Amen, 


ANONYMOUS 


[177] 


1  HE  famous  American  poet  and  reformer  has 
made  no  s?nall  contributmi  to  the  songs  of  wor- 
ship and  praise  used  in  the  churches.  This 
hymn  is  taken  from  his  longer  poeni  etititled 
"  The  Brewing  of  So?na.''  It  was  published 
first  for  church  worship  in  1884^  and  has 
grown  steadily  into  general  use  despite  much 
opposition  and  criticism,  once  bitter,  but  now 
abnost  forgotten,  regarding  the  poet' s  alleged 
heterodox  beliefs.  There  is  to-day  a  marked 
tendency  to  give  la?'ger  prominence  to  the  work 
of  the  great  poets  in  the  hymnody  of  the 
churches. 


[^78] 


THE     WAY     OF     PEACE 


D, 


'EAR  Lord  and  Father  of  mankind, 

Forgive  our  feverish  ways  ! 
Reclothe  us  in  our  rightful  mind  ; 
In  purer  lives  thy  semce  find, 

In  deeper  reverence,  praise. 

In  simple  trust  like  theirs  who  heard, 

Beside  the  Syrian  sea, 
The  gracious  calling  of  the  Lord, 
Let  us,  like  them,  without  a  word, 

Rise  up  and  follow  thee. 

O  Sabbath  rest  by  Galilee  ! 

O  calm  of  hills  above, 
Where  Jesus  knelt  to  share  with  thee 
The  silence  of  eternity. 

Interpreted  by  love! 

With  that  deep  hush  subduing  all. 
Our  words  and  works  that  drown 

The  tender  whisper  of  thy  call. 

As  noiseless  let  thy  blessings  fail 
As  fell  thy  manna  down. 

Drop  thy  still  dews  of  quietness, 

Till  all  our  strivings  cease: 
Take  from  our  souls  the  strain  and  stress, 
And  let  our  ordered  lives  confess 

The  beauty  of  thy  peace. 

Breathe  through  the  heats  of  our  desire 

Thy  coolness  and  thy  balm  ; 
Let  sense  be  dumb,  let  flesh  retire: 
Speak  through  the  earthquake,  wind,  and  fire, 

O  still  small  voice  of  calm! 


JOHN     GREENLEAF    WHITTIER 

[  179] 


Next  to  "  Jesus,  Lover  of  My  Sou//'  this 
is  accounted  the  most  popular  of  Charles  Wes- 
ley^ s  hymns.  Certainly  no  other  hyf?i?i  is  so 
frequently  sung  at  Christmas  tiine,  and  few 
things  have  as  strong  a  charm  or  make  a 
deeper  impression  than  the  sound  of  this  hymn 
as  it  is  sung  in  the  crisp  winter  air  by  the 
people  of  the  village  choir  as  they  stand  in 
the  streets  of  Engla7idj  just  before  Christmas. 


[.80] 


CHRISTMAS     CAROL 


H 


.  ARK  !  the  herald  angels  sing, 
«'  Glory  to  the  new-born  King  j 
Peace  on  earth  and  mercy  mild  ; 
God  and  sinners  reconciled." 
Joyful,  all  ye  nations,  rise, 
Join  the  triumph  of  the  skies  ; 
With  angelic  hosts  proclaim, 
''Christ  is  born  in  Bethlehem." 
Hark  !  the  herald  angels  sing, 
"  Glory  to  the  new-born  King." 

Christ,  by  highest  heaven  adored, 
Christ,  the  everlasting  Lord  : 
Late  in  time  behold  him  come. 
Offspring  of  a  virgin's  womb. 
Veiled  in  flesh  the  Godhead  see. 
Hail  the  incarnate  Deity  ! 
Pleased  as  man  with  men  to  appear, 
Jesus,  our  Immanuel  here. 

Hail  the  heaven-born  Prince  of  Peace  ! 
Hail  the  Sun  of  righteousness  ! 
Light  and  life  to  all  he  brings. 
Risen  with  healing  in  his  wings  : 
Mild  he  lays  his  glory  by, 
Born  that  man  no  more  may  die  ; 
Born  to  raise  the  sons  of  earth  ; 
Born  to  give  them  second  birth. 

Come,  Desire  of  nations,  come  ! 
Fix  in  us  thy  humble  home  : 
Rise,  the  woman's  conquering  seed, 
Bruise  in  us  the  serpent's  head  ; 
Adam's  likeness  now  efface, 
Stamp  thine  image  in  its  place  : 
Second  Adam  from  above, 
Reinstate  us  in  thy  love. 


CHARLES     WESLEY 


[i8i] 


1  HIS  hymn  represents  Charles  Wesley  at 
his  besty  and  it  is  everywhere  one  of  the  best 
loved  of  his  many  writings.  It  is  given  here 
as  he  wrote  it,  and  not  as  singers  have  insisted 
on  amending  it.  Like  the  writer  s  beautiful 
"  Jesus,  Lover  of  My  Soul,'  it  belongs  to  con- 
gregations of  almost  all  creeds  and  in  all  lands. 
It  was  published  in  I J  41' 


[182] 


LOVE     DIVINE 


I    vOVF.  divine,  all  loves  excelling, 

Joy  of  heaven,  to  earth  come  down  ; 
Fix  in  us  thy  humble  dwelling. 

All  thy  faithful  mercies  crown  : 
Jesus,  thou  art  all  compassion. 

Pure,  unbounded  love  thou  art } 
Visit  us  with  thy  salvation, 

Enter  every  trembling  heart. 

Breathe,  O,  breathe  thy  loving  spirit 

Into  every  troubled  breast! 
Let  us  all  in  thee  inherit, 

Let  us  find  that  second  rest  : 
Take  away  our  bent  to  sinning  j 

Alpha  and  Omega  be  ; 
End  of  faith,  as  its  beginning. 

Set  our  hearts  at  liberty. 

Come,  almighty  to  deliver. 

Let  us  all  thy  grace  receive  ; 
Suddenly  return,  and  never. 

Never  more  thy  temples  leave  : 
Thee  we  would  be  always  blessing, 

Serve  thee  as  thy  hosts  above. 
Pray,  and  praise  thee  without  ceasing. 

Glory  in  thy  perfect  love. 

Finish  then  thy  new  creation. 

Pure  and  spotless  let  us  be  j 
Let  us  see  thy  great  salvation, 

Perfectly  restored  in  thee  : 
Changed  from  glory  into  glory, 

Till  in  heaven  we  take  our  place, 
Till  we  cast  our  crowns  before  thee. 

Lost  in  wonder,  love,  and  praise. 


CHARLES     WESLEY 
HIT] 


•■~^- 


Dean  ALFORD  was  known  to  ail  the 
students  of  a  past  generation  for  Jjis  great  worizy 
"  The  Greeii  New  Testatnent^  with  Notes.''  If 
that  book  has  ceased  to  have  its  preeminencey 
his  hymns  have,  on  the  other  hand,  strengthened 
their  hold  on  the  affections  of  this  generation. 
This  hyjnn,  published  in  1866,  received  his 
niost  careful  work,  and  stands  as  the  best  rep- 
resentative of  his  poetic  power.  It  was  sung 
by  his  grfiveside,  in  the  yard  without  Can- 
terbury Cathedral,  where  he  had  been  so 
long  Dean,  at  the  time  of  his  burial  in 
j8j I.  y.  B.  Dykes  composed  the  tune,  called 
^'Alfordr 


I_iH] 


THE   ARMIES    OF  THE    RANSOMED 


JL  EN  thousand  times  ten  thousand, 

In  sparkling  raiment  bright, 
The  armies  of  the  ransomed  saints 

Throng  up  the  steeps  of  light: 
'Tis  finished,  all  is  finished. 

Their  fight  with  death  and  sin: 
Fling  open  wide  the  golden  gates. 

And  let  the  victors  in. 


What  rush  of  hallelujahs 

Fills  all  the  earth  and  sky  ! 
What  ringing  of  a  thousand  harps 

Bespeaks  the  triumph  nigh  ! 
O  day,  for  which  creation 

And  all  its  tribes  were  made  ! 
O  joy,  for  all  its  former  woes 

A  thousand-fold  repaid  ! 

O,  then  what  raptured  greetings 

On  Canaan's  happy  shore  ! 
What  knitting  severed  friendships  up. 

Where  partings  are  no  more  ! 
Then  eyes  with  joy  shall  sparkle, 

That  brimmed  with  tears  of  late, 
Orphans  no  longer  fatherless, 

Nor  widows  desolate. 

Bring  near  thy  great  salvation, 

Thou  Lamb  for  sinner  slain ; 
Fill  up  the  roll  of  thine  elect. 

Then  take  thy  power,  and  reign ; 
Appear,  Desire  of  nations  — 

Thine  exiles  long  for  home  — 
Show  in  the  heaven  thy  promised  sign ; 

Thou  Prince  and  Savior,  come  ! 


HENRY     ALFORD 


[^85] 


jtIBOJJT  no  hymn  writer  have  there  been 
greater  differences  of  opinion  than  about  F?'ed- 
erick  Williain  Faber  (Caherley  Vicarage^ 
Yorkshire^  June  28 ,  1814  —  London,  Sept. 
26,  l86j).  The  conclusion  of  the  whole 
matter  is  seen,  however,  in  the  growing  popu- 
larity of  his  work.  This  gifted  Catholic  has 
given  to  all  Christendom  a  numher  of  beautiful 
and  popular  hymns.  "  The  Pilgri?ns  of  the 
Night"  appeared  in  18^4.  It  is  the  best 
known  of  Faber  s  hymns  in  the  United  States, 
while  in  England  his  ^^  Paradise"  holds  first 
place.  The  former  has  been  fortunate  in  that 
some  beautiful  melodies,  notably  "  Vox  Angel- 
ica" by  y.  B.  Dykes,  have  been  cofnposed 
especially  for  it. 


[186] 


THE    PILGRIMS    OF   THE    NIGHT 


H 


.  ARK,  hark,  my  soul  !  angelic  songs  are  swelling 
O'er  earth's  green  fields  and  ocean's  wave-beat  shore 
How  sweet  the  truth  those  blessed  strains  are  telling 
Of  that  new  life  when  sin  shall  be  no  more. 


Refrain  — Angels  of  Jesus,  angels  of  light. 
Singing  to  welcome  the  pilgrims  of  the  night. 

Onward  we  go,  for  still  we  hear  them  singing, 
Come,  weary  souls,  for  Jesus  bids  you  come  ; 

And  through  the  dark,  its  echoes  sweetly  ringing, 
The  music  of  the  gospel  leads  us  home. 

Far,  far  away,  like  bells  at  evening  pealing. 
The  voice  of  Jesus  sounds  o'er  land  and  sea. 

And  laden  souls,  by  thousands  meekly  stealing. 
Kind  Shepherd,  turn  their  weary  steps  to  thee. 

Rest  comes  at  length  ;  though  life  be  long  and  dreary, 
The  day  must  dawn,  and  darksome  night  be  past  ; 

Faith's  journey  ends  in  welcome  to  the  weary. 

And  heaven,  the  heart's  true  home,  will  come  at  last. 

Angels  !   sing  on,  your  faithful  watches  keeping  ; 

Sing  us  sweet  fragments  of  the  songs  above  ; 
Till  morning's  joy  shall  end  the  night  of  weeping. 

And  life's  long  shadows  break  in  cloudless  love. 


FREDERICK    WILLIAM     FABER 


['87] 


1  HE  Rev.  JoJm  Ernest  Bode  was  a  rector 
of  the  Church  of  England^  born  in  i8l6  and 
dying  in  18J4.  His  life  was  spent  iti  his 
parish  duties  and  in  writi?ig  several  volumes 
both  of  prose  and  of  poetry.  This  hymn  first 
appeared  as  one  of  his  poems.  The  relative 
popularity  of  the  hy??in  in  England  as  com- 
pared with  the  United  States  is  indicative  of 
a  fact  often  overlooked,  that  the  place  of  a 
hymn  depends  ??iuch  on  the  tune  with  which  it 
is  associated.  In  the  former  country  it  is 
always  sung  to  the  beautiful  setting  by  f .  W. 
Ellioty  while  in  the  latter  no  particular  tune 
has  been  commonly  assigned  to  it. 


[188] 


A     DISCIPLE'S     PRAYER 


O 


JESUS,  I  have  promised, 

To  serve  thee  to  the  end  ,• 
Be  thou  forever  near  me. 

My  Master  and  my  Friend! 
I  shall  not  fear  the  battle. 

If  thou  art  by  my  side, 
Nor  wander  from  the  pathway. 

If  thou  wilt  be  my  Guide. 


O,  let  me  feel  thee  near  me  — 

The  world  is  ever  near  ; 
I  see  the  sights  that  dazzle, 

The  tempting  sounds  I  hear. 
My  foes  are  ever  near  me, 

Around  me  and  within  ; 
But,  Jesus,  draw  thou  nearer. 

And  shield  my  soul  from  sin. 

O  Jesus,  thou  hast  promised 

To  all  who  follow  thee. 
That  where  thou  art  in  glory. 

There  shall  thy  servant  be  ; 
And,  Jesus,  I  have  promised 

To  serve  thee  to  the  end  j 
O,  give  me  grace  to  follow 

My  Master  and  my  Friend. 


O,  let  me  see  thy  footmarks, 

And  in  them  plant  mine  own, 
My  hope  to  follow  duly 

Is  in  thy  strength  alone. 
O,  guide  me,  call  me,  draw  me. 

Uphold  me  to  the  end  ; 
And  then  in  heaven  receive  me. 

My  Savior  and  my  Friend. 


JOHN     ERNEST     BODE 


[,89] 


y 


ULIA  WARD  HOWE  (New  York, 
May  2y,  l8ig)  deserves  fame  for  f?iany  other 
things y  — for  poems ^  essays,  lectures,  and  works 
of  philanthropy,  —  but  she  will  always  be  known 
to  the  greater  number  as  the  writer  of  the 
great  *^  Marseillaise''  of  the  federal  armies. 
While  on  a  visit,  in  1 86 1,  to  the  army  encatJiped 
near  Washington  she  wrote  the  stirring  lines, 
basing  them  on  the  old  ^^fohn  Brown''  melody. 
This  can  never  become  a  great  international 
hytnn,  but  it  will  always  be  well  loved  by  the 
Atnerican  people.  It  is  interesting  to  note  the 
pleasure  of  a  church  cojigregation  when  they 
are  afforded  an  opportunity  to  join  in  singing 
as  a  hyt?in  the  so?ig  so  7nany  of  their  fathers 
sang  on  the  field. 


[190] 


BATTLE    HYMN    OF   THE    REPUBLIC 


M, 


.INE  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  of  the  coming  of  the  Lord  ; 
He  is  trampling  out  the  vintage  where  the  grapes  of  wrath  are  stored  ; 
He  hath  loosed  the  fateful  lightning  of  his  terrible  quick  sword  : 
His  truth  is  marching  on. 


Glory,   glory,  hallelujah  ! 

Glory,  glory,  hallelujah  ! 

Glory,   glory,  hallelujah  ! 

His  truth  is  marching  on. 

I  have  seen  him  in  the  watchfires  of  a  hundred  circling  camps  ; 
They  have  builded  him  an  altar  in  the  evening  dews  and  damps; 
I  have  read  his  righteous  sentence  by  the  dim  and  flaring  lamps  ; 
His  day  is  marching  on. 

I  have  read  a  fiery  gospel,  writ  in  burnished  rows  of  steel  : 
"As  ye  deal  with  my  contemners  so  with  you  my  grace  shall  deal  ; 
Let  the  Hero,  born  of  woman,  crush  the  serpent  with  his  heel, 
Since  God  is  marching  en." 

He  has  sounded  forth  the  trumpet  that  shall  never  call  retreat  ; 
He  is  sifting  out  the  hearts  of  men  before  his  judgment  seat. 
O,  be  swift,  my  soul,  to  answer  him  !      Be  jubilant,  my  feet  : 
Our  God  is  marching  on. 

In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies  Christ  was  born  across  the  sea. 
With  a  glory  in  his  bosom  that  transfigures  you  and  me  ; 
As  he  died  to  make  men  holy,  let  us  die  to  make  men  free, 
While  God  is  marching  on. 


JULIA     WARD     HOWE 
[191] 


"^  ''vT^l^  ■ 


Sarah  flower  ADAMS  (Great 
Harlow,  England^  Feb.  22,  l8o^  —  London, 
August,  1848 )  is  the  author  of  the  hymn 
which  is  the  best  k?iown  of  all  those  written 
by  women.  Though  written  as  recently  as 
1840,  this  hymn  stands  amongst  the  foremost 
in  the  list  of  the  ten  great  hymns  of  the 
Christian  church.  In  the  United  States  it 
would  be  itnpossible  to  find  a  hyinnal  fro?n 
which  it  is  omitted.  This  may  be  due,  in  part, 
to  the  tune  to  which  it  was  set  by  the  father 
of  Atnerican  church  ?nusic.  Dr.  Lowell  Mason. 
Written  by  an  Englishwo?nan,  this  hymn  has 
been  carried  to  all  parts  of  the  world  by 
American  travellers,  and  American  mission- 
aries have  translated  it  into  the  tongues  of  the 
strange  tribes  in  all  lands. 

[192] 


NEARER,   MY    GOD,   TO    THEE 


N, 


BARER,  my  God,  to  thee, 

Nearer  to  thee. 
E'en  though  it  be  a  cross 

That  raiseth  me  ; 
Still  all  my  song  shall  be, 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee. 

Nearer  to  thee. 


Though  like  the  wanderer, 
The  sun  gone  down. 

Darkness  be  ovei  me. 
My  rest  a  stone  ; 

Yet  in  my  dreams  I'd  be 

Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee, 
Nearer  to  thee. 


There  let  the  way  appear 
Steps  unto  heaven  ; 

All  that  thou  sendest  me, 
In  mercy  given  ; 

Angels  to  beckon  me 

Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee. 
Nearer  to  thee. 


Then,  with  my  waking  thoughts 
Bright  with  thy  praise, 

Out  of  my  stony  griefs 
Bethel  I  '11  raise  ; 

So  by  my  woes  to  be 

Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee, 
Nearer  to  thee. 


Or  if  on  joyful  wing, 

Cleaving  the  sky, 
Sun,  moon,  and  stars  forgot. 

Upward  I  fly, 
Still  all  my  song  shall  be. 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee. 

Nearer  to  thee. 


SARAH     FLOWER     ADAMS 


was 


^NNA  LAETITIA  FARING 
born  at  Neath,  Glamorganshire,  Wales,  where 
she  still  lives  the  quiet  life  of  a  ^akeress. 
She  has  written  many  beautiful  hynms,  one  of 
the  best  known  being  "  In  Heavenly  Love 
Abiding''  But  in  the  past  few  years  this 
hymn  of  simple  faith  and  desire  for  the  quieter 
ways  of  life  has  become  by  far  the  most  fre- 
quently used.  This  may  be  because  more  are 
seeking  the  path  beside  the  still  waters. 


[  194] 


THE     SIMPLE     WAY 


X^  ATHER,  I  know  that  all  my  life 

Is  portioned  out  for  me  ; 
The  changes  that  are  sure  to  come 

I  do  not  fear  to  see  ; 
I  ask  thee  for  a  present  mind 

Intent  on  pleasing  thee. 


I  ask  thee  for  a  thoughtful  love, 
Through  constant  watching  wise, 

To  meet  the  glad  with  joyful  smiles, 
And  wipe  the  weeping  eyes  ; 

A  heart  at  leisure  from  itself, 
To  soothe  and  sympathize. 


I  would  not  have  the  restless  will 

That  hurries  to  and  fro. 
Seeking  for  some  great  thing  to  do, 

Or  sacred  thing  to  know  ; 
I  would  be  treated  as  a  child, 

And  guided  where  1  go. 


Wherever  in  the  world  I  am. 

In  whatsoe'er  estate, 
I  have  a  fellowship  with  hearts 

To  keep  and  cultivate  : 
A  work  of  lowly  love  to  do 

For  him  on  whom  I  wait. 


I  ask  thee  for  the  daily  strength. 
To  none  that  ask  denied, 

A  mind  to  blend  with  outward  life, 
While  keeping  at  thy  side  j 

Content  to  fill  a  little  space, 
If  thou  be  glorified. 


In  service  which  thy  love  appoints 
There  are  no  bonds  for  me  5 

My  secret  heart  is  taught  the  truth 
That  makes  thy  children  free: 

A  life  of  self-renouncing  love 
Is  one  of  liberty. 


ANNA    LAETITIA    WARING 


[195] 


Samuel  john  stone  (Whitmore, 

England^  April  2^,  lSjg)y  a  clergyman  of 
the  English  established  churchy  is  the  author  of 
several  beautiful  hyynns,  although  none  of  them 
approaches  this  one  in  general  popularity.  In- 
deed, "  The  One  Foundation "  might  well  be 
called  the  world's  anthem  of  toleration ,  and  the 
best  expression  in  song  of  the  rapidly  growing 
sense  of  religious  unity.  It  is  a  remarkable 
thing  that  a  hymn  written  by  a  high  churchman 
should  serve  this  liberal  purpose.  It  is  sung 
wherever  Christians  of  differing  na7nes  and 
creeds  meet  together,  and  probably  it  has  done 
more  to  bring  the  many  bodies  of  Christendom 
together  than  all  the  sermons  preached  with 
that  aim. 


[196] 


THE     ONE     FOUNDATION 


3.   HE  church's  one  foundation 

Is  Jesus  Christ,  her  Lord  ; 
She  is  his  new  creation 

By  water  and  the  word. 
From  heaven  he  came  and  sought  her 

To  be  his  holy  bride  ; 
With  his  own  blood  he  bought  her, 

And  for  her  life  he  died. 

Elect  from  every  nation 

Yet  one  o'er  all  the  earth, 
Her  charter  of  salvation 

One  Lord,  one  faith,  one  birth  ; 
One  holy  name  she  blesses, 

Partakes  one  holy  food. 
And  to  one  hope  she  presses, 

With  every  grace  endued. 

Though  with  a  scornful  wonder, 

Men  see  her  sore  opprest. 
By  schisms  rent  asunder, 

By  heresies  distrest  ; 
Yet  saints  their  watch  are  keeping, 

Their  cry  goes  up,  "  How  long  ?  " 
And  soon  the  night  of  weeping 

Shall  be  the  morn  of  song. 

'Mid  toil  and  tribulation, 

And  tumult  of  her  war. 
She  waits  the  consummation 

Of  peace  for  evermore  ; 
Till  with  the  vision  glorious 

Her  longing  eyes  are  blest, 
And  the  great  church  victorious 

Shall  be  the  church  at  rest. 

Yet  she  on  earth  hath  union 

With  God,  the  Three  in  One, 
And  mystic  sweet  communion 

With  those  whose  rest  is  won  ; 
O  happy  ones  and  holy  ! 

Lord,  give  us  grace  that  we 
Like  them,  the  meek  and  lowly. 

On  high  may  dwell  with  thee. 


SAMUEL     JOHN     STONE 


[197] 


1  HIS  is  another  of  Bishop  Wordsworth* s  Jine 
co77ipositions.  It  was  written  to  be  sung  on 
Ascension  Sunday.  In  the  opinion  of  many 
this  is  Wordsworth's  finest  work  in  hytnnody ; 
at  all  events^  it  is  popular  in  the  churches. 


[.98] 


THE     ASCENDING     KING 


c5eE  the  conqueror  mounts  in  triumph  ; 

See  the  king  in  royal  state, 
Riding  on  the  clouds,  his  chariot, 

To  his  heavenly  palace  gate  ! 
Hark  !  the  choirs  of  angel  voices 

Joyful  alleluias  sing, 
And  the  portals  high  are  lifted 

To  receive  their  heavenly  king. 

Who  is  this  that  comes  in  glory, 

With  the  trump  of  jubilee  ? 
Lord  of  battles,  God  of  armies, 

He  hath  gained  the  victory. 
He  who  on  the  cross  did  suffer, 

He  who  from  the  grave  arose. 
He  has  vanquished  sin  and  Satan  ; 

He  by  death  has  spoiled  his  foes. 

Thou  hast  raised  our  human  nature. 

On  the  clouds  to  God's  right  hand  ; 
There  we  sit  in  heavenly  places, 

There  with  thee  in  glory  stand  ; 
Jesus  reigns,  adored  by  angels  ; 

Man  with  God  is  on  the  throne  ; 
Mighty  Lord  !  in  thine  ascension, 

We  by  faith  behold  our  own. 

Lift  us  up  from  earth  to  heaven. 

Give  us  wings  of  faith  and  love. 
Gales  of  holy  aspirations, 

Wafting  us  to  realms  above  ; 
That,  with  hearts  and  minds  uplifted, 

We  with  Christ  our  Lord  may  dwell. 
Where  he  sits  enthroned  in  glory, 

In  the  heavenly  citadel. 

So  at  last,  when  he  appeareth, 

We  from  out  our  graves  may  spring. 
With  our  youth  renewed  b'ke  eagles'. 

Flocking  round  our  heavenly  king, 
Caught  up  on  the  clouds  of  heaven. 

And  may  meet  him  in  the  air  — 
Rise  to  realms  where  he  is  reigning, 

And  may  reign  forever  there. 


CHRISTOPHER     WORDSWORTH 


[199] 


^7''?.-'i^'"^^  S.'    y-'-'  f"^i^^^'\'-^ 


^•^  'V;-  i^fj-'-  f--* 


SABINE  BARING-GOULD  ("Exeter, 

Englafid,  Jan.  28 y  18 J 4),  an  English  clergy^ 
man,  novelist^  antiquarian,  and  the  writer  of 
a  number  of  well  known  hymns,  was  a  Cajn- 
bridge  man,  graduating  from  Clare  College  in 
18^6.  In  the  coinparatively  short  ti?ne  since 
this  hymn  was  written,  in  186^,  it  has  become 
world  famous,  and  to-day  it  would  rank,  in 
frequency  of  use,  with  the  greatest  of  the  hymns. 
Its  popularity  is  probably  due,  in  part,  to  the 
fact  that  it  is  one  of  the  few  martial  songs 
suitable  to  church  worship ;  and,  in  no  small 
degree,  to  the  ringing  tune  which  Sir  Arthur 
Sullivan  composed  for  it  in  i8y2.  English 
soldiers  often  si  fig  it  on  the  f?iarch,  whole  regi- 
ments taking  up  the  strains,  and  it  has  been 
translated  into  many  foreign  tongues. 

[  200  ] 


ONWARD,   CHRISTIAN    SOLDIERS 


O 


NWARD,  Christian  soldiers, 

Marching  as  to  war, 
With  the  cross  of  Jesus, 

Going  on  before. 
Christ,  the  royal  Master, 

Leads  against  the  foe  ; 
Forward  into  battle. 

See,  his  banners  go. 


Refrain  —  Onward,  Christian  soldiers, 
Marching  as  to  war. 
With  the  cross  of  Jesus, 
Going  on  before. 


Like  a  mighty  army. 

Moves  the  church  of  God  ; 
Brothers,  we  are  treading 

Where  the  saints  have  trod  ; 
We  are  not  divided, 

All  one  body  we, 
One  in  hope  and  doctrine, 

One  in  charity. 


Crowns  and  thrones  may  perish, 

Kingdoms  rise  and  wane, 
But  the  church  of  Jesus 

Constant  will  remain  ; 
Gates  of  hell  can  never 

'Gainst  that  church  prevail; 
We  have  Christ's  own  promise. 

And  that  cannot  fail. 


Onward,  then,  ye  people, 

Join  our  happy  throng, 
Blend  with  ours  your  voices 

In  the  triumph  song  ; 
Glory,  laud,  and  honor. 

Unto  Christ  the  King  ; 
This  through  countless  ages. 

Men  and  angels  sing. 


SABINE      BARING-GOULD 


[201] 


}wkM 


IVlANT  look  on  this  as  the  finest  piece  of 
work  by  Bishop  How.  It  consisted  originally 
of  eleven  stanzas^  the  eight  given  here  being 
those  most  commonly  used  in  worship.  It  was 
written  about  1864. 


[  202  ] 


THE     VICTORIOUS     ARMY 


J.    OR  all  the  saints  who  from  their  labors  rest, 
Who  thee  by  faith  before  the  world  confessed, 
Thy  name,  O  Jesus,  be  forever  blessed. 
Hallelujah,  Hallelujah  ! 

Thou  wast  their  rock,  their  fortress,  and  their  might  j 
Thou,  Lord,  their  captain  in  the  well  fought  fight ; 
Thou,  in  the  darkness  drear,  their  one  true  light. 
Hallelujah,  HaUelujah  ! 

O  may  thy  soldiers,  faithful,  true,  and  bold, 
Fight  as  the  saints  who  nobly  fought  of  old. 
And  win  with  them  the  victor's  crown  of  gold. 
Hallelujah,  Hallelujah  ! 

O  blest  communion,  fellowship  divine  ! 
We  feebly  struggle,  they  in  glory  shine  ; 
Yet  all  are  one  in  thee,  for  all  are  thine. 
Hallelujah,  Hallelujah  ! 

And  when  the  strife  is  fierce,  the  warfare  long. 
Steals  on  the  ear  the  distant  triumph  song, 
And  hearts  are  brave  again,  and  arms  are  strong. 
Hallelujah,  Hallelujah  ! 


The  golden  evening  brightens  in  the  west  ; 
Soon,  soon  to  faithful  warriors  comes  thy  rest  j 
Sweet  is  the  calm  of  Paradise  the  blest. 
Hallelujah,  Hallelujah  ! 

But  lo,  there  breaks  a  yet  more  glorious  day  ; 
The  saints  triumphant  rise  in  bright  array  ; 
The  King  of  Glory  passes  on  his  way. 

Hallelujah,  Hallelujah  ! 

From  earth's  wide  bounds,  from  ocean's  farthest  coast. 
Through  gates  of  pearl  streams  in  the  countless  host, 
Singing  to  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost, 

"  Hallelujah,  Hallelujah  !  " 


WILLIAM     WALSHAM      HOW 


[203] 


1^ HILE  James  W.  Alexander  (Hopewell, 
Va.y  March  /j,  1 804  —  Red  Sweet  Springs, 
Va.,  'July  J/,  l8^g)  deserves  nmch  credit  for 
his  sympathetic  rendering  of  this  hymn,  its 
authorship  goes  back  to  Bernard  of  Clairvaux 
( logi—ll^j ),  the  outstanding  ecclesiastical 
figure  of  the  second  crusade,  a  great  poet,  a 
great  politician,  and  a  ?nighty  power  in  his 
day.  In  16^6  Paul  Gerhardt  translated  these 
stanzas  of  Bernard' s  longer  hyftin  into  Ger- 
man, and  since  then  it  has  been  one  of  the  best 
known  hymns  of  that  people.  In  18 2g  Dr. 
Alexander  prepared  his  translation,  but  it  was 
not  given  to  the  public  until  twenty  years  later. 
The  gifted  translator  was  for  7uany  years  the 
pastor  of  the  Fifth  Avenue  Presbyterian  church 
in  New  Tork. 

[204] 


O     SACRED     HEAD 


o 


SACRED  head,  now  wounded, 

With  grief  and  shame  weighed  down, 
Now  scornfully  surrounded 

With  thorns,  thine  only  crown  ; 
O  sacred  head,  what  glory. 

What  bliss,  till  now  was  thine  ! 
Yet,  though  despised  and  gory, 

1  joy  to  call  thee  mine. 


What  thou,  my  Lord,  hast  suffered 

Was  all  for  sinners'  gain  ; 
Mine,  mine  was  the  transgression. 

But  thine  the  deadly  pain. 
Lo,  here  I  fall,  my  Savior  I 

'T  is  I  deserve  thy  place; 
Look  on  me  with  thy  favoti, 

Vouchsafe  to  me  thy  grace. 

The  joy  can  ne'er  be  spoken 

Above  all  joys  beside, 
When  in  thy  body  broken 

I  thus  with  safety  hide. 
My  Lord  of  life,  desiring 

Thy  glory  now  to  see. 
Beside  thy  cross  expiring, 

I'd  breathe  my  soul  to  thee. 

What  language  shall  1  borrow 

To  praise  thee,  heavenly  Friend, 
For  this,  thy  dying  sorrow, 

Thy  pity  without  end  ! 
Lord,  make  me  thine  forever. 

Nor  let  me  faithless  prove; 
O,  let  me  never,  never. 

Abuse  such  dying  love. 

Forbid  that  I  should  leave  thee  ; 

O  Jesus,  leave  not  me  ! 
By  faith  1  would  receive  thee  ; 

Thy  blood  can  make  me  free  ! 
When  strength  and  comfort  languish 

And  1  must  hence  depart. 
Release  me  then  from  anguish 

By  thine  own  wounded  heart. 

Be  near  when  I  am  dying, 

O  !  show  thy  cross  to  me  ! 
And  for  my  succor  flying, 

Come,  Lord,  to  set  me  free  ! 
These  eyes,  new  faith  receiving, 

From  Jesus  shall  not  move; 
For  he  who  dies  believing, 

Dies  safely  —  through  thy  love. 


BERNARD     OF     CLAIRVAUX 


[205] 


FrIEDRICH  RUDOLPH  LUDWIG, 

Baron  von  Canitz  (l6^4—l6gg)y  is  the  author 
of  this  beautiful  hymn,  which,  even  in  the  ab- 
brevi ate d  form  in  which  it  usually  is  printed, 
is  little  known  in  this  country.  The  transla- 
tion was  made  by  the  Rev.  Henry  fames 
Buckroll, 


[  206] 


MORNING     ASPIRATION 


C^OME,  my  soul,  thou  must  be  waking  — 
Now  is  breaking 

O'er  the  earth  another  day  ; 
Come  to  him  who  made  this  splendor — 
See  thou  render 

AU  thy  feeble  powers  can  pay. 

From  the  stars  thy  course  be  learning; 
Dimly  burning, 

'Neath  the  sun  their  light  grows  pale; 
So  let  all  that  sense  delighted. 
While  benighted 

From  God's  presence,  fade  and  fail. 

Lo!  how  all  of  breath  partaking. 
Gladly  waking. 

Hail  the  sun's  enlivening  light ! 
Plants,  whose  life  mere  sap  doth  nourish. 
Rise  and  flourish 

When  he  breaks  the  shades  of  night. 

Thou,  too,  hail  the  light  returning  — 
Ready  burning 

Be  the  incense  of  thy  powers  ; 
For  the  night  is  safely  ended  — 
God  had  tended. 

With  his  care,  thy  helpless  hours. 

Pray  that  he  may  prosper  ever 
Each  endeavor. 

When  thine  aim  is  good  and  true; 
But  that  be  may  ever  thwart  thee 
And  convert  thee. 

When  thou  evil  wouldst  pursue. 

Think  that  he  thy  ways  beholdcth  — 
He  unfoldcth 

Every  fault  that  lurks  within  ; 
Every  stain  of  shame  gloss'd  over 
Can  discover. 

And  discern  each  deed  of  sin. 

Only  God's  free  gifts  abuse  not. 
His  light  refuse  not, 

Bui  still  bis  spirit's  voice  obey  ; 
Soon  shall  Joy  thy  brow  be  wreathing. 
Splendor  breathing. 

Fairer  than  the  fairest  day. 

If  aught  of  care  this  morn  oppress  thee, 
To  him  address  thee. 

Who,  like  the  sun,  is  good  to  all  ; 
He  gilds  the  mountain  tops,  the  while 
His  gracious  smile 

Will  on  the  humblest  valley  fall. 

Round  thee  gifts  his  bounty  showers; 
Walls  and  towers, 

Gin  with  flames,  thy  God  shall  rear; 
Angel  legions  lo  defend  tbcc  ; 
Shall  attend  thee  — 

Hosts  whom  Satan's  self  shall  fear. 


BARON     VON     CANITZ 


[207] 


